


-i ; ; 



Sea Waifs and other Poems. 






I!> 



Mrs. W: LESLIE COLLINS, 
ti 

FRANKFORT, KY. 










LOUISVILLE: 

John P. Morton and Company. 

1888 



C t 



COPYRIGHTED BY 

Mrs W LESLIE COLLINS. 

1888 



DEDICATED 

To those whose linked existence found my own, 

And love-encircled all my infancy, 

And smoothed sweet Childhood's path to Womanhood 

With tender care. The wand of Memory 

Has deeply traced, with fair, unfading tints, 

Upon the inmost tablets of my heart 

The image of faces loved and lost. 

Not all the dainty witchery of Art 

Could dearer pictures form on canvas scroll. 

Beneath the whisp'ring grass, and silent sod 

The loved forms sleep the long and dreamless sleep; 

The spirits dwell forevermore with God. 

My father, dear ! My mother, fondly loved ! 

Look back across the sunset's golden waves ! 

Bless thy child who with sweet remembrance brings 

These poems — tributes — to thy honored graves ! 



CONTENTS. 



Dedication, ------------- 3 

Sea Waifs, ------------ 7 

Letters, ___-__-___-__ 47 

The Wee Robber, ---------- 48 

Cloud Prisoners, ----------- 51 

Thirty Years, ----------- 56 

The Passing Train, ---------- 57 

A Plea for Red Hair, --------- 60 

The Leaf, ------------- 62 

Dreams, ------------- 63 

Baby Lee, ------------- 69 

My Sailor Love, ---------- 70 

To the Memory of Mrs. R. Elliott Collins, • - - 74 

She "Cometh up as a Flower," ------ 75 

Irqua's Farewell, ----------- 76 

The Lost Glove (His Confession), 80 



CONTENTS. 5 

The Recovered Glove (Her Confession), - - - 81 

My Sweetheart, ----------- 82 

Isabel (A Christmas Story), -------- 83 

Contrasts, ------------- 95 

The Result, ------------ 97 

Morning, ------------- 98 

'Way Down in Ole Varginia (Plantation Song), - 100 

In Memory of Mrs. T. M. Greene, ----- 102 

My Kentucky Girl, ---------- 105 

My Precious Maid, ---------- 108 

The Lone Grave, ----------- 109 

Tight Shoes, ------------ 122 

The Home of My Childhood, ------- 123 

To the Memory of Mrs. William Greene,- - - 129 

Grieve Not, - ------------ 131 

To Lora, ------------- 132 

Baby May, ------------- 134 

Before the Dawn, ---------- 136 

An Epitaph, ------------ 139 

Under a Big Umbrella, ----- - _ 140 

The Brunette, ------------ 141 

The Conservatory, ---------- 142 

On the Train, -----_---.-_ 145 

What is My Little Love to Me?- ----- 147 

The Thistle-Ship, ----------- 148 

Old Margaret's Story, --------- 149 



CONTENTS. 



With Compliments of the Season, - ----- 157 

The Merman's Wooing (A Song), ----- 159 

A Thought, - - - - - 161 

The Frolic of the Fairies (A Christmas Poem), - 162 

Our Baby, - - - - - - - - 167 

The Beau's Mishap, - --------- 168 

The Old Man's Dreams, -------- 170 

Love's Alphabet, ---------- 175 

The Close of Day, ---------- 176 

To Nellie,- ------------ 177 

Dream Ships, ------------178 

To Eminence College, --------- 185 



SEA WAIFS. 

The sun-god drives his golden ear 

Adown the blue slope of the West, 
To where the rosy sunset clouds 

On opal-tinted pillars rest 
Above a rippling, crystal sea, 

Whose waves reflect the azure sky, 
And curl along the gleaming strand 

Where pink-lipped shells and sea-weeds lie. 



The beach spreads out to gently meet 

Green, sloping lands, whose grassy waves 
Float to the verdant, wood-crowned hills, 

Whose sylvan paths the wild flow'r paves. 
A gurgling brooklet swiftly runs 

With sweet complainings to the sea; 
The breezes echo its complaints 

With sympathetic melody ; 
2 



SEA WAIFS. 

Their velvet pinions fan the trees, 

They swing the birdling in its nest, 
They catch the wild bird's notes, 

And stir the downy feathers on his breast 
They kiss the flow'ret's dainty cheek, 

And steal the perfume from its breast 
To float it o'er the summer sea 

To join the pink clouds in the West. 

Like endless serpents of the sea 

Two rails stretch out their steely bands 
O'er waving grass and blooming flowers, 

Across the verdant sloping lands, 
Close to the green base of the hills, 

Within sight of the restless sea; 
And o'er them rushing engines pass 

With steam wings floating light and free. 

Close to the beach a cottage stands, 

A fisher's cottage, small and white. 
The white-draped windows, vine-wreathed door, 

Proclaim a woman's presence bright; 
Above the door sweet roses red 

Swing softly in the evening air, 
And bend to kiss with velvet lips 

The curls of silken, ebon hair 



SEA WAIFS. 

Of her who stands beneath their shade; 

Their fragrant petals softly brush 
Against a cheek whose dainty bloom 

Reflects the sunset's rosy blush ; 
Her lips of coral half disclose 

Teeth whiter than the ocean's pearls; 
Above her eyes of midnight hue 

Her slender, dimpled hand she curls 

To shield them from the dying sun, 

That slowly dips to meet the waves 
That ripple to the sunset's verge, 

And smile above a thousand graves; 
Each sparkling wavelet seems to hold 

Within its foam a captive star, 
And o'er them glides the iisher's boat — 

His fair wife sees it from afar. 

Ah, pleasant is the waving grass! 

And sweet the bird songs from each tree! 
Oh, lovely is the sunset sky ! 

And beautiful the summer sea ! 
The midnight eyes note not their charms, 

But serve as windows for the heart 
That through them meets the coming boat 

Before whose keel the blue waves part. 



10 SEA WAIFS. 

The handsome woman swiftly turns 

To glance beyond the rose-wreathed door 
To where two lovely children lie 

Asleep upon the cottage floor. 
One is a girl three years of age — 

A beautiful, sweet, roguish elf: 
The woman fondly gazes. on 

A charming image of herself; 

For 'tis her own and only child, 

Who presses with cherubic form 
The crimson softness of the rug — 

A babe whose life has seen no storm. 
Beside a huge Newfoundland dog, 

Where dying sun-rays faintly stream, 
There, sleeping, lies a winsome boy 

As lovely as a poet's dream. 

Fair as an angel, and as pure, 

With floating curls of fairy gold ; 
The silken, magic meshes bright, 

Imprisoned sunbeams seem to hold. 
One dimpled hand is pressed against 

A red mouth curved like Cupid's bow 
The sweeping lashes softly meet, 

fulled by the ocean's magic flow. 



SEA WAIFS. 11 

Between the children scattered lie 

Pink, pearly shells, whose echoes keep 
The music of the mermaid's song, 

The mystic murmurs of the deep. 
The fragrant zephyrs gently sway 

The trailing splendor of the rose; 
O'er curls of jet and curls of gold 

The scented sea-breeze softly blows. 

The singing bird, the blooming flow'r, 

The tinted sky, the crystal deep 
Can not compare in loveliness 

With infant beauty fast asleep. 
The woman's eyes of liquid dusk 

Are filled with holy mother-joy, 
And love for her dear, only child, 

And for her fair, adopted boy. 

The sweet thought-birds of memory 

Now flutter in their warm heart-nest, 
And spread their silken, shining wings 

To flit back o'er the years so blest, 
Unto a changeful bridal day 

Of sun and shade, and smiles and tears, 
When Hope half spread her golden wings 

Beneath the dusk of haunting fears, 



12 SEA WAIFS. 

When rosy Cupid and his mate — 

Sweet Hymen with his bridal ring — 
Were chilled by Azrael's icy breath, 

And paled beneath his ashy wing. 
The day that saw the wedding ring 

Placed on fair Lona's slender hand 
Closed softly o'er her orphaned head — 

The fairest bride in all the land. 

That morn, her father said to her, 

11 My child, there is within my heart 
A lance of pain that swiftly tells 

Me that from earth I soon must part. 
I can not go, and leave my child 

With none to honor, love, and guide ; 
I can not leave you, dear, alone. 

Go, call Bernardo to my side." 

Bernardo came with manly tread, 

And handsome head proudly erect ; 
He clasped the invalid's thin hand 

With mingled love, and deep respect. 
" Sit down, my children, loved and true," 

The sick man said, " and listen to 
The strange, sad story of my life, 

Which now I shall relate to you : 



SEA WAIFS. 13 

"Beyond the ocean's magic flow, 

Beyond a rippling azure sea, 
There lies the bright land of my birth — 

My beautiful, loved Italy ! 
There Nature smiles in beauty rare, 

And Art invites the wond'ring world 
To view her poems wrought in stone, 

And on her canvas walls unfurled. 

" Between the mountains and the sea, 

Not far from Naples' sunny walls, 
Spread out the broad ancestral lands 

Around the ancient castle halls 
That cradled all my princely race 

For more than twice two hundred years, 
And whose deep bells have rung their tones 

O'er bridal trains, and pall-draped biers. 

" Far out beyond the fiow'r-deeked lands 

Spread out the sparkling waters blue 
Of Naples' fair unrivaled bay, 

Whose surface makes a mirror true, 
In which the Morning sees her face, 

And, tossing back her golden hair, 
She blushes with a grace divine 

To see her radiant image there. 



14 SEA WAIFS. 

" The cloudless azure skies of noon 

Bend o'er the waters blue as they, 
And Sunset peeps to catch the glow 

Reflected from her banners gay, 
Of purple, crimson, pink, and gold; 

The night its beauty does not mar ; 
But fastens in each rippling wave 

The lovely image of a star. 

" A tideless sea, with soft caress, 

Breaks on the sands forevermore, 
Where shells like pearly, pink-lined ships 

Lie wrecked upon the sun-kissed shore ; 
The screaming sea-birds lightly skim 

The waves beneath the sunlight's glow, 
Or soar between the sea and sky, 

With blue above, and blue below. 

" No cloud floats o'er this charming scene, 

Save where the curling, smoky plumes 
Of Mt. Vesuvius float out 

Above a land of birds and blooms. 
Beyond the ancient castle walls 

The mountains make a background green, 
Whose sylvan shades and forest aisles 

Add to the sweet, enchanting scene. 



SEA WAIFS. 15 

"And myriads of bright-plumed birds 

Flash through the trees like Eastern gems, 
Or float like mammoth olossoms blown, 

By careless winds, from swaying stems ; 
Each songster pours his little heart 

Out on the gold-flecked, ambient air 
In liquid music, whose pure notes 

Rise to the heavens blue and fair. 

" The odors of a thousand flow'rs 

Float out and mingle into one; 
Rich grapes in luscious clusters hang 

Empurpling in the southern sun: 
And dewy-hearted, golden fruits 

Half hide their satin beauty rare, 
Or lift soft, crimson cheeks to meet 

The love-kiss of the sunbeam fair. 

"Ah, children! Fancy's silken wing 

Enwraps me in its painted fold, 
And bears me o'er the waters wide 

Unto that land of blue and gold — 
Of azure skies and golden sun 

That hung like blessings o'er my life, 
And crowned existence when they brought 

Unto my heart a worshiped wife. 



16 SEA WAIFS. 

"My father was a haughty man, 

The Prince Lorenzo Claronclella ; 
My mother's blood was blue as his, 

She was the Duchess Vallabella; 
But when I was a tiny babe, 

And brother scarcely two years old, 
She placed us in our father's arms, 

And passed beyond the Gates of Gold. 

" Old Time had scarcely placed the crown 

Of manhood on my brother's brow 
Before he wedded a fair maid — 

An English maiden pure as snow. 
My father's anger knew no bounds, 

Because he wished our ancient name 
To be entwined with one as old, 

Of equal wealth and known to fame. 

" My father vowed that while he lived 

He'd see my brother's face no more ; 
My brother took his lovely bride, 

And left us for a foreign shore. 
No message ever came to us 

To tell us of his weal or woe ; 
And now I'll see his face no more 

This side the sunset's radiant glow. 



SEA WAIFS. 17 

"The years sped on. Love came to me 

In beautiful and shapely guise : 
I wedded an Italian maid; 

Lived in the splendor of her eyes 
For two short years ; then jealous Death 

Did softly steal her from my breast, 
And bear her far beyond the stars 

Unto the City of the Blest. 

"Ah ! naught cares Death for wealth nor rank, 

Nor beauty brilliant as a star ; 
But all must lay life's sweetness down 

Before they pass the Gates Ajar. 
The body is a tinted shell, 

The soul a chrysalis divine 
That breaks its bonds to soar away 

Beyond death's dreamless, dusky line. 

"Oh, sweet Alzera ! darling wife ! 

With thee the sun of love went down ! 
When pale Death closed thine eyes my life 

Forever lost its peerless crown ! 
She left to me one pledge of love — 

A blossom-baby, since whose birth 
The queen of night had scarcely drawn 

Six silver circles 'round the earth. 



18 SEA WAIFS. 

" A few dark days of wretchedness, 

And then my father's haughty head, 
Crowned with the silver locks of age, . 

Was laid to rest among the dead. 
Before death came his stern heart turned, 

With fond love and forgiveness free, 
Unto his best-loved eldest born. 

I sent a message o'er the sea 

" To where my brother's lovely wife 

Had said was placed her English home, 
Not doubting that 'twould find him there, 

And bid him to his country come. 
Castellamare, my ancient home, 

Went with the title, and the lands, 
As beautiful as magic dreams, 

Were also at the heir's commands. 

"My portion, as a younger son, 

Excelled my fairest dreams of wealth ; 
Ah ! naught cared I for riches then ; 

For care had undermined my health, 
And life was nothing without love. 

Hot, bitter tears and cruel grief 
Had swept my heart-strings till they bled ; 

I sought in change to find relief. 



SEA WAIFS. 19 

" With wealth converted into gems, 

And placed next to my throbbing breast, 

I took my old nurse, and my babe, 
And sailed toward the golden West, 

To that new land beyond the waves, 
Whose gallant sons, with latest breath, 

Have ever spoken to the world, 

' Oh, give me liberty, or death.' 

"One night an inky darkness spread, 

O'er sea and sky, its sable gloom ; 
Enveloped in this blackness dire 

Two ships, colliding, met their doom, 
And sank together 'neath the waves, 

Bearing within their woody arms 
Sweet childhood's bloom, gray hairs of age, 

Young manhood's strength, and beauty's charms. 

"The morning found the ocean blue 

Uptossing on its sparkling waves 
The floating fragments of the ships 

That, 'neath the foam, found ocean graves. 
A few survivors of the wrecks 

Were struggling in the waters wide, 
Or, lashed to broken spars and planks, 

Were drifting, half drowned, with the tide. 



20 SEA WAIFS. 

"A passing schooner rescued us — 

Five men, and a dark, lovely boy ; 
Juanita, and my dainty babe 

Were rescued also, to my joy. 
My old nurse, and my baby girl 

Were lashed together to a spar, 
And, when the sailors picked them up, 
Had almost passed the Gates Ajar. 

" I had, for six long weary hours, 

Clung tightly to an upturned boat, 
And, when the sailors rescued me, 

Could scarcely keep myself afloat ; 
I fainted on the schooner's deck, 

And woke to find my dripping breast 
Exposed, and all my jewels gone 

Beneath the ocean's briny crest. 

"Bui in my money belt there was 

Enough of gold to well supply 
The simple wants of quiet life 

Beneath a genial, Southern sky. 
And this is why I never went 

Back to my own loved Italy, 
Because a pensioner upon 

My brother I could never be. 



SEA WAIFS. 21 

"The boy oame from the other Bhip, 

And soaroe oould lisp his pretty name, 
' Bernardo;' but he could not tell 

The parentage from which he came. 
Though many efforts have I made, 

I ne'er could find his friends, nor home. 

I fear that all who hold him dear 
Lie drowned beneath the ocean's foam. 

"Our saving ship was homeward hound 

Unto a fishing village small, 

( )n Florida's bright, flow'r-decked coast. 

Where southern sunbeams ever fall. 
The years have fled, and still 1 live 

Within sight of that village small ; 
My child, and my adopted hoy, 

And my old nurse have been my all. 

"I've lived the life of a recluse, 
Devoted to my children fair, 
And watched their bodies, hearts, and minds 

Unfold in beauty rich and rare ; 
I've watched the sweet a Heel ion hud 

That blossomed in each childish heart 
Unfurl in love's full blooming rose, 
And form of life a central part. 



22 SEA WAIFS. 

" My sands of life are falling fast, 

And soon my spirit shall have flown ; 
So what care I for rank or wealth — 

I can not leave my child alone. 
Go, call good Father Anselmo, 

And let me see my child the wife 
Of one who'll cherish and protect, 

And love and honor her through life." 

The good priest came. It was soon o'er, 

And Lona stood a blushing bride, 
Half-happy and half-sad as he 

Who stood so proudly by her side. 
Athwart their happiness there fell 

The cold, gray shadow of the tomb, 
That soon would clasp with clayey arms 

Their father's form within its gloom. 

Pink, dewy evening fluttered down, 

And shut with jeweled finger-tips 
The fragrant petals of the flow'rs 

That all day long with nectared lips 
Had met the kisses of the bees ; 

Each nodding blossom, sweet and fair, 
Held close unto its scented heart 

The sparkling dew-drop treasured there. 



SEA WAIFS. m 23 

Masses of gold and purple clouds, 

Like happy islands of the blest 
Reposing on a crystal sea, 

Hung 'round the portals of the West, 
As through them passed the setting sun 

With golden glory all ablaze. 
The sick man lay with dreaming eyes 

That seemed to pierce through golden haze 

Into the sunset's crimson depths 

That tinged with rose the sparkling sea. 
He sighed, "Ah! all this beauty rare 

Reminds me of my Italy : 
Oh, Italy, my beautiful! 

No more my eyes thy charms shall see; 
No more my feet shall press thy soil ; 

No more my heart beat light and free 

"Beneath thy ever-smiling skies; 
No more I'll see the glory bright 
Of thy grand sunsets, for I go 

Beyond their radiant rainbow light 
Unto the City of the Blest, 

Whose jasper walls are golden lined, 
Whose gates are hinged on earnest prayer; 
And in that blissful clime I'll find 
3 



24 SEA WAIFS. 

"Sweet recompense for all the joys 

That to me on this earth were lost, 
And there I'll ever, ever praise 

The Father, Son and Holy Ghost. 
Oh, darling wife, thy lily hands 

Are held to guide my spirit home ! 
Farewell, my children! Farewell, Earth ! 

Oh, Alzera! I come! I come!" 

The spirit fled to join its mate 

And live forever by her side ; 
Death placed his seal on lips and brow, 

And Lona was an orphaned bride. 
Ah ! many moons have waxed and waned 

From slender silver crescents bright 
To golden circles since that day 

Of sun and shade, of dusk and light. 

Ere three more days had passed away 

Juanita closed her age-dimmed eyes, 
Her withered hands clasped on her breast, 

And joined her nurse-child in the skies. 
One night the mad, hot breath of fire 

Swept through the vine-embowered cot ; 
Then came Bernardo and his bride 

To dwell upon this charming spot 



SEA WAIFS. 25 

That overlooks the changeful sea. 

Here Cupid folds his gauzy wing, 
And happy days go slipping by, 

Like white pearls from a broken string. 
Four years have swept their cycles bright 

Around the happy wedded life 
Of handsome, manly Bernardo, 

And Lona fair, his high-born wife; 

Nor care they aught for rank or wealth ; 

For rosy Cupid is still king 
O'er two fond hearts whose lives are held 

Together by a wedding ring. 
When baby Nina came to them 

Their wedded life was crowned with joy; 
And added bliss came with the tide 

That brought their fair adopted boy. 

One day, more than two years ago, 

A stately ship with ragged sails • 

Was blown upon the jagged rocks 

Far down the coast. The driving gales, 
And rushing waters swept her decks, 

And scattered far upon the waves 
Her broken timbers ; and her crew, 

And passengers found ocean graves. 



26 SEA WAIFS. 

But one was saved. The rushing tide 

Cast on the sands the torn, bruised form 
Of one whose life was taken by 

The cruel fingers of the storm. 
Clasped closely in her rigid arms 

Was a sweet babe scarce two years old, 
Bleeding, unconscious, almost drowned, 

But still this side the Gates of Gold. 

Bernardo, chancing to be there, 

Took pity on the baby boy, 
And brought him to the cottage home 

Of which he is the sun and joy. 
He knows not of the scattered wreck ; 

Nor knows he of the seaside grave 
Where rests the beautiful, bruised form 

Cast shoreward by the surging wave. 

A ring was on the cold, drowned hand, 

Inscribed, " From Hubert to Marie." 
The face was lovely, though it bore 

The impress of the cruel sea. 
Her garments and those of the boy 

Were of texture rich and fine ; 
Around the baby's neck a chain 

Wound in a slender, shining line, 



SEA WAIFS. 27 

And, pendent from it, on his breast, 

A tiny locket bore the name 
Of " Hubert," and the jeweled clasps 

Upon his shoulders bore the same. 
The locket held the pictured face 

Of her who on the shore was thrown, 
And of a handsome, noble man 

With features like the baby's own. 

The jeweled clasps, the wedding ring, 

The locket and its slender chain, 
Sweet Lona treasures for the boy 

Brought to her by the foaming main. 
Since then no cloud has dimmed his sky ; 

Nor has he missed a mother's care ; 
But, sheltered in that cottage home, 

Has grown in beauty bright and rare. 

With mingled love, and fondest pride 

The woman standing in the door 
Looks down upon him as he lies 

Asleep upon the cottage floor, 
Beside the huge Newfoundland dog, 

And Nina on the rug close by, 
And o'er them glints the tinted light 

Reflected from the sunset sky. 



28 SEA WAIFS. 

Is any thing more lovely than 

The dainty flush on cheek and lip 
Of happy childhood softly touched 

By slumber's rosy finger-tip? 
The woman smiles, then swiftly knots 

The scarlet kerchief at her throat ; 
Then lightly speeds adown the shore, 

To meet her husband's coming boat. 

Nor sees she on the distant hill 

Three men descending toward the cot : 
One is good Father Ansel mo, 

Upon whose life there is no spot; 
■ But strangers are the other two, 

Of lordly mien and foreign air, 
And one is handsome, tall, and dark, 

The other handsome, tall, and fair. 

When o'er the blue meridian 

The sun-god drove his shining steeds, 
And through the good priest's fingers thin 

So softly slipped his silver beads — 
For at mid-day devotions was 

The good priest kneeling on the floor — 
A stranger came with stately tread 

Unto his humble cottage door. 



SEA WAIFS. 29 

The good priest started in surprise ; 

For on the cottage steps there stood 
The counterpart of him who died 

More than four years ago. The food 
Of earth-worms is his mortal frame ; 

His soul immortal, joined the throng, 
That ever hovers 'round the throne 

With praise to God and holy song. 

Among the stranger's ebon locks 

The silver lines of passing years 
Had oft been drawn and added to 

The white lines bleached by grief and tears ; 
An eager light then shown within 

The dusky depths of large, soft eyes. 
The olive cheek betrayed the kiss 

Of ardent suns in Southern skies. 

And, as a soft rose-tinted light 

Shines through a fragile crystal vase, 
So did the grand and chastened soul 

Show in the handsome, manly face. 
The good priest listened with surprise 

To what the stately stranger said 
In a soft voice, whose every tone 

Recalled to mind the saintly dead. 



30 SEA WAIFS. 

The stranger told a woeful tale 

Of ships colliding on the sea, 
As he, with wife and only child, 

Was going home to Italy. 
He told of darkness, and of death; 

Of inky waters, starless skies, 
Of shattered wrecks, engulfing waves, 

Of shrieks, and moans, and drowning cries. 

The stranger told of how he tied 

His darling wife, and sweet boy fast 
To buoyant planks, then firmly lashed 

Himself unto a broken mast. 
He told of how, for long dark hours, 

He floated near eternity, 
'Till morn, with rosy, sun-shod feet, 

Came dancing o'er the dimpled sea. 

And when the fading morning-star 

Had drawn a tinted fleecy vail 
Of soft chryselephantine clouds 

Before her face so pure and pale, 
There came a floating, jagged plank 

Against the stranger, and he knew 
No more until the noonday sun 

Was beaming from the heavens blue. 



SEA WAIFS. 31 

And o'er him bent the faces kind, 

Beaming with manly sympathy, 
Of sailors bold, whose sturdy arms 

Had drawn him from the greedy sea. 
One look — then darkness fell again, 

And fever seized the wearied brain, 
And whirled along the tingling nerves, 

And sped its fire through ev'ry vein. 

Unto the serpent-haunted clime 

Of India the ship was bound ; 
And many times the silent moon 

Had trod the silver path around 
The whirling earth before the heir 

Of beautiful Castellamare 
Was once more 'neath the azure sky 

Of Italy, so bright and fair. 

The slow years dragged their weary length ; 

But brought no balm unto the heart 
That ached with bitter emptiness; 

And ne'er again the rosy dart 
Of Cupid found a lodgment there 

Since from its mate cold Death did sever 
The heart, so true to memory, 

That loved but once, and loves forever. 
4 



32 SEA WAIFS. 

The stranger told the listening priest 

Of how he, sadly, once more went 
To see the pretty English home 

Where his short wedded life was spent — 
Where life's sweet dreams were realized. 

Alas! that such fond dreams should be 
Forever darkened by the clouds 

That swept above the midnight sea. 

One night a broken iron rail 

Hurled to destruction, sure and dire, 
A swiftly-moving railway train, 

And — added horror — wrathful fire 
Curled redly o'er the wild debris, 

And many helpless souls, that day 
Imprisoned in poor mangled forms, 

Through torture found the Gates of Day. 

Close to this melancholy scene 

The stranger's English mansion stood, 
And unto it was brought the dead, 

The maimed, the bruised, and those whose blood 
Bore out upon its crimson tide 

The fading souls that soon should be 
Far, far beyond the shores of time, 

Into the vast eternity. 



SEA WAIFS. 33 

The stranger told of how he took 

The clammy hand of one who lay 
With life-light fading from his eyes, 

And life-sands ebbing fast away. 
His dress proclaimed him of the sea ; 

His face bore marks of sun and storm ; 
His eyes with recognition gleamed 

As o'er him bent the stranger's form. 

He feebly pressed the stranger's hand, 

And murmured softly, " Forgive me ; 
I stole your gems the morn we saved 

You from the cold waves of the sea — 
'Twas almost twenty years ago. 

The gems I never dared to sell, 
Fearing their richness would betray 

The theft ; nor could I quell 

" The stings of conscience, so I hid 

The jewels in a ruined well 
Whose broken sweep lies on the brink, 

Moss-grown, where years ago it fell. 
The well is close unto a cot 

Whose dark-red tiles, and vine-draped walls 
Are shaded by the village church 

When evening's mantle softly falls, 



34 SEA WAIFS. 

" You know the church. It overlooks 

The fishing village, small and white, 
Upon the coast of Florida, 

Where on one lovely, moonlit night — 
'Twas almost twenty years ago — 

We landed with our gallant crew 
And rescued passengers — two babes, 

Their nurse, five men — one of them you." 

By dint of eager questionings, 

And faint replies, the stranger heard 
The story of the rescued ones 

Who landed from the white Sea-bird 
That night upon the moonlit shore 

Of Florida, whose shell-strewn sands 
Join the wind-rippled, smiling sea 

Unto the orange-scented lands. 

The stranger knew the dark-eyed boy 

Who lisped " Bernardo " as his name 
Was his own child. He also knew 

His brother to have been the same 
From whom the sailor stole the gems ; 

And, ere four suns had sunk to rest, 
Once more upon the ocean waves, 

The stranger floated toward the West. 



SEA WAIFS. 35 

He told the sympathetic priest 

Of how he found the village small, 
The cross-tipped church, the red-tiled cot — 

The good priest's own — and begged for all 
The information that the priest 

Could give concerning his dear child, 
His brother, and his brother's babe, 

And old Juanita, kind and mild. 

Good Father Anselmo then told 

The story to my readers known. 
The prince gave praise to all the saints 

Because his long-lost child — his own — 
Would be restored to him, and bring 

A daughter in his brother's child, 
And "in her arms a grandchild sweet. 

His heart was trembling like a wild 

Bird caught within the fowler's net ; 

He shed tears to the memory 
Of the dear brother who had shared 

His early life in Italy. 
" And now, good father," cried the prince, 

I pray you guide me to the spot 
Where dwell my son, my daughter-niece, 

And grandchild in their seaside cot ; 



36 SEA WAIFS. 

" But first I'll call the cherished friend 

Who came with me across the sea ; 
He wanders in the church-yard near. 

My heart is linked by sympathy 
Fast unto his; for his sad tale 

Is similar unto my own, 
Though much more recently the cloud 

Of grief was 'round his spirit thrown. 

" I met him on board of the ship, 

In aimless travel seeking rest 
For the crushed heart that, brokenly, 

Beats sadly in his troubled breast. 
More than two years ago he sent 

His darling wife, and only child 
Away from England's winter chill, 

Unto a southern land more mild — 

" Unto warm Cuba's sunny shore 

(Their health demanded that he should) 
Where, eagerly awaiting them, 

Were many of their kindred blood, 
Who had fled from old England's mists 

To spend the winter in that clime 
Where sunny lovliness abounds, 

And Nature's pulses beat to rhyme. 



SEA WAIFS. 37 

: Alas ! the ship was lost, and none 

Could tell what was her direful fate. 
Beyond the surging seas of earth, 

Beyond the Golden City's gate, 
The lady Marie, with her boy, 

Awaits to soothe the bitter pain 
That rankles in the faithful heart 

Of talented Lord Hubert Vane." 

The good priest trembled with the thought 

That fluttered in his busy brain ; 
To the Italian Prince he cried : 

" Go, call to us Lord Hubert Vane." 
Lord Hubert came. " Oh !" cried the priest, 

{i His is the face the locket holds ! 
His every feature, miniatured, 

The little Hubert's face unfolds !" 

And soon the priest the story told 

Of little Hubert by the sea. 
Lord Hubert cried : " I thank Thee, God, 

For this great mercy unto me ! 
This silver lining to the cloud 

That darkened all my lonely life!" 
But, though he thanked God for his boy, 

His heart still moaned for his dead wife. 



38 SEA WAIFS. 

The good priest called a fisher lad, 

And soon the ruined, moss-grown well 
Had yielded up the long lost gems 

From its dark bosom where they fell 
When dropped in by the sailor thief. 

Their iridescent sparkles told 
That all the lovely jewels were 

Worth many times their weight in gold. 

Soon prince, and lord, and shaven priest — 

To shun the rocks that intervene 
Between the fishing village small, 

And all the bright enchanting scene 
That smiles around Bernardo's cot — 

Were treading o'er the grass-wrapped hills, 
And through the woodland's whisp'ring shades, 

And by the tinkling, sylvan rills. 

They followed on the brooklet's way, 

Whose gurgling silver swiftly whirls 
Adown the hill, o'er sloping lands, 

And shining sands, where softly curls 
The mystic waters of the sea. 

One moment paused they on the height 
To view the charming, fairy scene 

Bathed in the sunset's rosy light. 



SEA WAIFS. 39 

And, now, they gaze out on the sea 

To where Bernardo's white-sailed boat 
Comes dancing homeward. O'er his head 

The circling sea-birds, screaming, float. 
The three men see Bernardo's wife 

Spring lightly from the rose-crowned door — 
They do not know she leaves, asleep, 

The children on the cottage floor. 

Before the echo of her step 

Dies on the circumambient air 
The boy awakes, and tosses back 

The tangled sunshine of his hair. 
His eyes, as blue as violets, 

Are sparkling like two azure stars ; 
His dimpling smile has caught the light 

That floods the sunset's radiant bars. 

To his gay shout, and romping touch 

Nero responds with joyous bark ; 
And little Nina opens wide 

Her eyes so fathomless and dark. 
The jetty radiance of those eyes 

Has ne'er been dimmed by bitter tears ; 
With gleeful laugh she joins the romp, 

And seizes Nero by his ears. 



40 SEA WAIFS. 

With movement quick Nero escapes 

His little captor's dimpled hands, 
And, springing through the open door, 

Bounds toward the em'rald sloping lands. 
With all the grace, and childish speed 

Of four bright years the merry boy 
Gives chase, and Nina's little feet 

Go toddling after him with joy. 

The romp is noisily renewed 

Upon the flow'rs amid the grass ; 
With mirthful shouts, and laughter gay 

The happy moments swiftly pass ; 
They pluck the fragrant-hearted flow'rs, 

And in the velvet centers peep 
To see if there should be within 

A baby fairy fast asleep. 

The little feet stray on, and on 

Until they climb the verdant mound 
Upon whose breast the railway winds, 

Where sweet white violets abound. 
A hundred hundred dainty blooms 

Are nestling in the waving grass; 
Their delicate and fragrant heads 

Nod to the south winds as they pass. 



SEA WAIFS. 41 

u Look, Nina !" little Hubert cries, 

" Look! Here are all the soft white things 
That fell last winter from the skies, 

Like feathers from the sea-birds' wings. 
Our pretty mamma called them 'snow;' 

But, now, I know they sweetly grew 
In Heav'n, and baby-angels there 

At radiant playmates gayly threw 

" Soft showers of these milky blooms 

That slipped through heaven's golden bars, 
And fluttered downward to the earth, 

Like clouds of misty, pearly stars. 
Don't you remember how they fell 

For hours, as though they'd never cease ?" 
Says Nina, " Yes, I 'member now, 

The old moon-woman pickin' deese." 

And thus they brightly prattle on. 

For them the days are full of joy ; 
And Nero keeps a faithful watch 

O'er Nina, and the poet boy. 
The butterflies, with painted wings, 

Are floating in the scented air ; 
The velvet bees, with drowsy hum, 

Are rifling: sweets from flowers fair. 



42 SEA WAIFS. 

They plume their gauzy, fairy wings, 

And, sailing homeward one by one, 
They leave the children, and the flow'rs 

Together 'neath the setting sun. 
Now, hark ! What is that rumbling sound ? 

Has some huge monster of the deep 
Grown tired of ocean's darksome caves, 

Where, drowned and wrecked, pale corpses sleep? 

And does he raise his awful voice 

Against a hard and bitter fate 
That shuts him from the sun and stars? 

Or does he moan an absent mate ? 
Oh, no ! It is a coining train, 

The thunder of whose whirling wheels 
Breaks on the perfumed evening air — 

The trembling earth its presence feels. 

On, on it comes with headlong speed ; 

The engine screams a warning shrill, 
And dashes 'round the shining curve 

That binds the green foot of the hill ; 
It sweeps out o'er the sloping lands 

On, on to where the snow-white flowers — 
The violets — profusely bloom 

In beauty meet for fairy bowers. 



SEA WAIFS. 43 

Why does the gallant engineer 

Spring forward with a startled cry '? 
Why is it echoed by his mate, 

The fireman, who stands close by? 
Why is the engine now reversed? 

Why does the whistle shriek, "Down brakes?" 
Why does the brazen, sharp-tongued bell 

Join in the din the whistle makes? 

In vain ! The train can not be checked 

Until it passes o'er the way 
That's decked with snowy violets, 

And where the lovely children play. 
Upon the green side of the mound, 

Beside old Nero, Hubert stands, 
While Nina sits between the rails — 

Sweet flowers fill her chubby hands. 

The engineer, and fireman, too, 

One moment close their anguished eyes 
As o'er the fragrant, milky blooms 

The rushing engine swiftly flies. 
Ah, Heaven ! Does the little maid 

Lie crushed amid the violets? 
And do they kiss, with pure, pale lips, 

Her tender cheeks, with sweet regrets ? 



44 SEA WAIFS. 

Oh, no ! Old Nero saved the child ; 

He caught her garments with his teeth, 
And swiftly bore her from the track 

As she was almost drawn beneath 
The rushing wheels, and now she lies 

Unhurt upon the grassy bank 
Where grow the snowy violets 

In white profusion, rich and rank. 

One moment lies she thus, and then 

The dark prince clasps her to his breast ; 
And little Hubert's golden curls 

Upon Lord Hubert's bosom rest. 
Bernardo, and his lovely wife 

Have missed the children from the cot, 
And now they haste to join the group 

Collected on the flower-strewn spot. 

And now the last kiss of the day 

Falls on a scene too sacred far 
For mortal stylus to portray : 

The white lamp of the evening star 
Beams from the sky, and on the sea 

The young moon rocks her slender boat ; 
The birds are hushed; the sleeping flow'rs, 

Out on the night, their perfumes float. 



SEA WAIFS. 45 

Soon shall two white ships sail the waves, 

And one shall hold Lord Hubert Vane, 
England-ward bound, with his sweet boy, 

And all the fragments that remain 
Of Lady Marie, once so fair — 

His beautiful, storm-murdered wife. 
His child makes sunshine in his heart; 

But can not fill his broken life. 

The other ship shall spread her sails 

For Italy so bright and fair, 
And take back to his ancient home 

The good Prince of Castellamare, 
Bernardo, and his handsome wife, 

And little Nina, whose bright eyes 
Shall glow with childish happiness 

To watch the white spray as it flies, 

And laugh to hear old Nero bark 

At ocean's flying, feath'ry foam ; 
Good Father Ansel mo shall go 

Back to his childhood's sunny home. 
The ship shall bear the coffined forms 

Of old Juanita, and the one 
Whose spirit joined sweet Alzera's 

Beyond the setting of the sun. 



46 



SEA WAIFS. 



And now I lift with magic pen 

The mystic, misty vail that falls 
About the future's rosy gates ; 

I glance beyond the tinted walls, 
Across a bridge of many years, 

Unto a happy wedding day : 
The Avails of old Castellamare 

Are fluttering with banners gay ; 



The bells ring out in joyous tones ; 

The land is filled with happiness ; 
Old Father Anselmo holds out 

His trembling, aged hands to bless, 
The marriage of the English lord, 

Young Hubert Vane, so tall and fair, 
With Nina, beautiful and sweet, 

The Princess of Castellamare. 



LETTERS. 

Ah ! who among us does not know 
All that this word may to us bring? 

It calls to mind the new babe's name, 
The sable pall, the bridal ring. 

Is there aught else upon this earth 
Possessed of such tremendous power 

As these same white-winged messengers 
That come to us at any hour 

With their silent and mystic freight 
Of joy or sorrow, love or fear ? 

They make or mar, or bless or ban, 
Or soothe or rasp, or chill or cheer. 

A very part of those most dear ; 

The sweetest thing a friend can send ; 
The bitterest a foe can frame, 

To, with its gall, our spirits rend ; 

A heart's-ease plucked from Love's bouquet ; 

A stab which leaves the poison there; 
A cup of grief which nothing soothes ; 

A cup of joy beyond compare. 
5 



THE WEE ROBBER. 

Just think! A little dimpled thief 
Of all our household is the chief! 
A baby-darling, sweet and fair, 
With heaven's sunshine in her hair, 
And heaven's azure in her eyes, 
Within whose blue depths sparkling lies 
Twin stars, robbed from the evening skies, 
That look on earth with mild surprise. 



The wee thief stole the palest pink 
Of sea-shells by the ocean's brink, 
And spread it on her ears, and toes ; 
She stole the damask of the rose 
To tint the velvet of her cheeks. 
Perhaps a lily-mother seeks 
The lily-buds that whitely glow 
Upon the baby-robber's brow. 



THE WEE ROBBER. 49 

The small rogue filled her mouth with red 
Coral from ocean's gleaming bed ; 
Behind the coral are a few 
Pearls safely hidden from our view. 
No doubt the summer's golden days 
Will coax them cunningly to gaze 
Through smiling lips whose cherry hue, 
Dewy and ripe, is stolen too. 

The wee sprite stole the ring-dove's coo ; 
She stole the magpie's chatter too ; 
She stole the blue-jay's joyous note, 
And hid it in her dainty throat 
Along with chanticleer's gay crow, 
And laughter's rippling music low ; 
She stole the murmer of the brook ; 
She stole the lambkin's tender look ; 

She stole an angel's smile above; 
She stole the dimpled form of Love, 
And placed his bow upon her lips, 
And caught upon her finger tips 
The power of his magic darts, 
And straightway captured all our hearts. 
To think that such an arrant thief 
Should of our household be the chief! 



50 



THE WEE ROBBER. 



But 'neath her bright, bewitching eyes 

We pardon all her robberies, 

And bow to feet that can not walk, 

And list to tongue that can not talk ; 

We glory in our servitude, 

And think it brings us naught but good, 

And deem that to our care is given 

A sweet, enchanting bit of Heaven. 



CLOUD PRISONERS. 
I. 

Three fleecy cloudlets bang above 

The far-off mountain's misty crest, 
Where curling snow-wreaths whitely deck 

The mountain's brow, and rugged breast ; 
The crystal children of the mount 

Toss upward arms of pearly light, 
Soft as the cygnet's tender breast, 

To clasp the floating, fleecy-white 

Cloud-children of the summer skies, 

Whose curling wings softly unfold, 
And bear them through the sun-flecked air 

On angel's pinions tipped with gold. 
They sail out o'er the verdant vale 

Whose breast is laced with silver streams, 
Whose breath is made of flower scents 

As delicate as fairy dreams. 



52 CLOUD PRISONERS. 

They pause above the shade that wraps 

The forest's dusky beauty 'round, 
And watch the breeze-stirred, green leaves throw 

Coy, trembling shadows to the ground 
To join the sunbeams' merry dance 

Upon the forest's waving grass 
Whose em'rald spear-points softly pierce 

The sportive zephyrs as they pass. 

And now the cloudlets hover o'er 

The wood lake's dimpling, rippling breast 
Whose sweet pulsations 'gainst the shore 

Disturb the water-lilies' rest. 
White swans, like elfin shallops, sail 

Their snowy beauty on the lake, 
And shadow-swans beneath them glide, 

Flecked by the gold the sunbeams make. 

One cloudlet nearer bends to gaze 

Within the mirror of the lake ; 
Charmed by the scene reflected there 

He leaves the heavens for its sake. 
Caught by the magic of the waves, 

A willing prisoner is he, 
As on the water's breast he lies, 

A mirrored cloud, Reality. 



CLOUD PRISONERS. 53 

II. 

The other clouds sail on, and on, 

Above the meadows green and fair, 
Where pink-plumed clover smiles perfume, 

And robber bees go buzzing there 
To steal the nectar of the flow'rs. 

The sunlight pierces with his lance 
The wax-white daisies' golden hearts, 

Then joins the breeze-sprites' happy dance. 

There, knee-deep in the luscious grass, 

The quiet kine stand, dreamy-eyed, 
Half list'ning to the brooklet's song, 

As through the meads its ripples glide ; 
The bleating sheep, and frisking lambs 

That dot the landscape o'er with white, 
Like cloudlets of the meadow lands, 

Are basking in the sunshine bright. 

Beneath an oak tree's spreading shade 

An artist paints the beauteous scene — 
The sheep, the lambs, the quiet kine, 

The brooklet, flow'rs, and grasses green. 
One cloudlet folds her gauzy wings, 

Slips down the sunshine's slanting rays 
To hover o'er the artist's head, 

And on the glowing picture gaze. 



54 CLOUD PRISONERS. 

She sees the meadows painted there, 

And skies from which the sunbeams fall; 
She finds herself a prisoner, 

Bound fast unto the canvas wall 
By fetters tinted by the dyes 

So charming to an artist's heart. 
Contented is the prisoner, 

Held by the mystic touch of Art. 

III. 

Light as the thistle's silver sails, 

When set for Fairyland afar, 
The other cloudlet sails, alone, 

On toward the ocean's harbor bar; 
It sweeps out o'er the foam-tipped waves, 

And down the western ether hies 
To catch the lovely tints that make 

The glory of the sunset skies. 

Oh, beautiful the pink, the pearl, 

The ruby, silver, and the gold, 
The jasper, and the amethyst ! 

The opal-tinted skies unfold 
The colors of Earth's fairest gems, 

And of the treasures of the sea. 
If this is the wrong side of Heav'n, 

What must the other bright side be? 



CLOUD PRISONERS. 



55 



A poet views the glorious scene : 

The cloudlet softly trails along, 
And soou its airy pinions are 

Caught in the meshes of his song ; 
Entangled in the poet's verse, 

And never wishing to be free, 
The cloudlet slips through bars of thought 

Into the Land of Poetry. 



*/X- 



^-^^mw^^^ 



THIRTY YEARS. 

Ten years I was a happy child. 

The golden hours sped swiftly by, 
And life was all a summer day 

With not a cloud to dim its sky. 

Ten years I was a merry maid 

With dancing feet. The sunny hours 

Of life were made of gayety, 

Joy, laughter, music, love, and flow'rs. 

Ten years I've been a loving wife 
To one whose heart is all my own ; 

I would not miss his tender love 
To be a queen upon her throne. 

May many other happy years, 

As they our heads pass softly o'er, 

Find us devoted, fond, and true, 
Each to the other, evermore ! 




THE PASSING TRAIN. 



My muse inspires me now to write, 

While twilight spreads her dusky wing 

Between the sunset and the night, 
And stillness broods o'er every thing. 

A curling mist infolds the hills 

With clinging arms of cheerless gray, 

And all our little valley fills, 

And hides the evening star's pale ray. 

The meek-eyed cows come slowly home 
To meet the milkmaid's cunning hands, 

And soon the milk will rise in foam 
White as the snow of Arctic lands. 

The birds long since have gone to rest 
In downy nests amid the trees. 

But, hark! What is that warning blast 
Borne to me by the evening breeze? 



58 THE PASSING TRAIN. 

It is the whistle of a train, 

The neighing of an iron steed, 
That rushes on with might and main, 

Through hill and vale, with headlong speed, 

Bearing a precious living freight 

Over the shining iron rails, 
To homes where wife, and children wait, 

And Love unfurls his whitest sails 

To sail the happy Sea of Life; 

Or homes where dimly burns the fire 
Of tenderness for child, and wife, 

And Love goes down in shipwreck dire. 

Perhaps to homes with other ties ; 

Perhaps a mansion, or a cot; 
Perhaps an eager lover flies 

On wings of steam to the dear spot 

Where dwells the darling of his heart — 
The fair, sweet idol of his life, 

And hopes from her no more to part; 
For soon she'll be his cherished wife. 

Perhaps some have their homes just left, 
And they to other scenes go forth ; 

Perhaps some of their loves bereft, 
Find life to them of little worth, 



THE PASSING TRAIN. 59 

The iron horse with fiery breath 

Dashes onward with its train, 
And sends of curling smoke a wreath 

To float against my window pane. 

Through gleaming glass I catch a view 

Of faces dark, of faces fair ; 
Of eyes of dusk, of eyes of blue; 

Of ebon locks, of sunny hair; 

Of faces young, of faces old; 

Of faces classed between the two ; 
Of faces shy, of faces bold ; 

Of faces bright as morning dew; 

Of faces sad behind the vail — 

The crepe habiliment of woe; 
Two convicts on their way to jail 

With handcuffs, and grim keepers go. 

The engineer keeps steady eyes 

Upon the way his steed must go, 
As o'er the slender road it flies, 

Bearing its freight to weal, or woe. 

Pass on, wild steed, with fiery crest, 
Bearing your precious, living care! 

And peace, and quiet once more rest 
On Benson's vale, and Whitehall fair. 



A PLEA FOR RED HAIR. 



Oh! some may sing of lily maids, 

With eyes of tender blue, 
And pretty skin, all pink and white, 

And hair of golden hue; 

And some may sing of dusky belles, 
So bright, and free from care, 

With eyes like velvet, soft and dark, 
And silken, jetty hair; 

But I will sing of auburn locks — 
Yes! locks of sun-kissed red; 

For since the world was first begun 
They have crowned beauty's head. 

Beautiful Mary, Queen of Scots, 

Had lovely auburn hair ; 
So, also had " the good Queen Bess "- 

Though she was not so fair. 



A PLEA FOE BED HAIR. 61 

Red locks adorned Joan of Arc; 

And it is ofttimes said 
That Cleopatra — Egypt's Queen — 

Had hair of darkest red. 

The lovely Lucretia Borgia — 

So beautiful and vile — 
Had rippling hair of sunny red, 

Her victims to beguile. 

The lovliest of bright red hair, 
That seemed to float and dance, 

Once crowned the head of Eugenie, 
The dethroned Queen of France. 

And Adam, handsomest of men, 

Had " liyacinthine " locks, 
Which is another name for red, 

And saves us many shocks ; 

For Milton, poet, old and blind, 

Could not make us believe 
There lived in Eden's Garden a 

Red haired Adam and Eve. 

So, since Adam created was, 

With "liyacinthine" head, 
His daughters, most celebrated 

And beautiful, have red. 



THE LEAF. 

(Translated from the French of Fenelon.) 

So rudely torn from thy support, 

Where goeth thou, poor withered leaf? 

I do not know. The tempest's sport 
Is the dire cause of all my grief. 

It felled the oak, upon whose bough 

My slight form clung since early spring; 

And from that dreadful day till now 
The fickle wind upon his wing 

Has borne me o'er the spreading plain, 
And through the forest's shady nooks, 

And o'er the rugged mountain chain, 
And by the valley's babbling brooks. 

Without complaint, and without grief, 
I go where every thing else goes, 

Where goes the slender laurel leaf, 
Where goes the soft leaf of the rose. 



DREAMS. 

The firefly lights his tiny lamp, 

The beetle drones his vesper hymn, 
The sun-god hides his golden curls 

Behind pale twilight's curtain dim ; 
The nightingale sings sweetly to 

The rose that twines about his nest'; 
The mother-bird holds tenderly 

Her nestlings to her feathered breast. 



Across the misty, purple hills 

So softly falls the fading light; 
The twilight darkens into dusk; 

The darkness deepens into night ; 
The eve-star holds aloft her torch 

Of silver, and her radiant eyes 
Gaze on the slumbers of a world 

Rocked in the cradle of the skies. 



64 DREAMS. 

The tender message of the night 

Is by the white moon's radiance sealed ; 
Like silver lilies all abloom 

The stars shine in an azure field. 
The rainbow sprites, who weave the threads 

Of sleep into the fabric bright 
Of visions, come with downy wings, 

And flutter 'round my soul to-night. 

My sleeping spirit gently floats, 

As magic dream-waves go and come, 
Upon the tranquil Sea of Sleep, 

And in the silent, mystic foam 
This fair dream-picture softly comes: 

A youth, and maiden lightly float, 
Upon a lakelet's dimpled breast, 

And water-lilies touch the boat 

With velvet fingers as it glides 

Between the blue of wave and sky. 
Amid the maiden's golden curls 

Sweet, creamy water-lilies lie; 
They press their snowy, fragrant crowns 

Against a throat as white as they; 
The fingers of one dimpled hand 

With sister lilies gently play ; 



DREAMS. 65 

The other hand is softly clasped 

By fingers strong, and firm, and brown ; 
O'er eyes of heaven's wond'rous blue 

Come gold-fringed lashes sweeping down 
To meet the blush that tints with rose 

The velvet cheek. A richer glow 
Burns on the red, alluring lips, 

Curved like sly Cupid's silver bow. 

What lover can resist such charms? 

Not he who sits beside the maid ! 
Soon golden curls with lilies crowned 

Upon his throbbing breast are laid, 
And soul meets soul through love-lit eyes, ■ 

And kisses, passionate and warm, 
Are pressed on lips, and cheeks, and brow, 

And lids that vail the blue eyes' charm. 

The maiden starts. Confusion's sweet, 

Pink banner flutters on her cheek. 
Ah, fatal start ! The frail boat tilts, 

And from the love- kissed lips a shriek 
Rings out above the lily crowns, 

Rings out upon the scented air, 
As dimpled waves enwrap the forms 

Of gallant youth, and maiden fair. 



66 DREAMS. 

The dream is ended ! The dark Sea 

Of Sleep no longer tranquil lies : 
Upon the restless, tossing waves 

My frail dream-shallop madly flies 
Before the fast pursuing foam, 

Whose whirling, curling mists infold 
A dream of shattered hopes, and death, 

And wild heart-anguish — grief untold ! 

The youth, and maiden coldly lie 

Upon the lakelet's grassy rim, 
Where laid the youth his burden down 

Before his dark-brown eyes grew dim 
With deathly faintness. The red tide 

Of life is ebbing from his brow, 
Where glows a cruel, ragged wound, 

Made by the upturned boat's sharp prow. 

To him will bounding life return; 

But not to her who lies beside 
Him on the lakelet's grassy rim; 

For Death has claimed her for his bride. 
The silken hair, still lily-crowned, 

Enwraps her in a shroud of gold, 
And water-lilies, crushed and drowned, 

The small, clenched fingers tightly hold. 



DREAMS. 67 

The bloom is gone from cheek and lips, 

Whose dewy crimson erst-while thrilled 
Beneath love's fond, impassioned kiss; 

The tender heart forever stilled ; 
The sweet blue eyes imprisoned are 

By curling lashes' golden bars ; 
The pure white soul has spread its wings, 

And flown beyond the silver stars. 

There falls upon the scene a pall 

Through which no star-ray faintly gleams, 
My frail dream-shallop trembling lies 

A wreck upon the shore of Dreams. 
I start and wake. The night is gone ; 

Aurora lifts her misty vail, 
And blushes 'neath the Day's first kiss, 

At whose approach the moon turns pale. 

Ah, me ! I am an old man now ; 

My hair is white. Upon my brow 
There glows a cruel ragged scar 

Made by an upturned boat's sharp prow. 
'Tis thus the years are bridged by dreams, 

'Tis thus I see my long-lost love ; 
Soon shall my tired soul soar away 

To meet her in that Realm above, 



68 



DREAMS. 



Beyond the silent Sea of Sleep, 

Beyond the mystic shore of Dreams, 
Beyond the morning's dainty tints, 

Beyond the sunset's glorious gleams, 
Beyond the moonlight, and the day, 

Beyond the sunshine, and the rain, 
In Heaven, where all things are fair, 

My lily shall be mine again. 



BABY LEE. 

In the winter dark and dreary, 

Second day of January 

Brought to us our little " dearie." 

Eyes of dusk, and dainty nose ; 
Flesh of velvet; lips of rose; 
Dimpled fingers ; dimpled toes. 

All day long this boy you see, 
Cooing softly in his glee ; 
Darling little baby Lee ! 

Heaven's blessing rest upon 
Our fondly cherished one ; 
Loving parents' only son. 

May his life be full of joy ; 
Happiness without alloy ; 
Love and blessings for our boy. 

May his life be sweet and long, 
Full of good, and free from wrong ; 
Ending softly as a song. 

Then may Death, like a white dove, 
Bear him to the realms above ; 
To the Father— God of love. 



MY SAILOR LOVE. 

PART I. 

I stand upon the glistening shore, 

Beneath the light of stars and moon, 
And listen to the waves dull roar — 

They rise and fall in solemn tune. 
The pulses of the mighty deep, 

With swelling throbs, beat 'gainst the shore; 
The sobbings of the night winds keep 

In mournful rhythm with ocean's roar. 



One year ago, upon these sands, 

1 bade my sailor love adieu: 
He went to sunny foreign lands 

Across the mighty ocean blue. 
Six months ago the white winged Dove — 

My lover's good ship — sailed for home. 
Since then no tidings of my love, 

$or of his ship, have to me come. 



MY SAILOR LOVE. 71 

Oh, Ocean ! where upon your waves 

Now rocks my lover's gallant barque? 
Or has it, and its crew found graves 

Beneath the waters still and dark? 
Oh, did mid-ocean's tempest fierce 

The waters spread with floating wrecks ? 
Or sunken reefs the good ship pierce? 

Or raging flames sweep o'er her decks? 

Where is my sailor love to-night? 

Low lying in a coral cave, 
Among the pearls and jewels bright 

That gem the sands beneath the wave? 
And does the mermaid, young and fair, 

Draw near, and touch with fingers cold 
The silken meshes of his hair 

That bind his brow with rings of gold? 

Ah ! many 'neath your billows sleep 

Upon your shining ocean-bed. 
The mother, and her child, you keep; 

Gray hairs, and youth's bright golden head 
Are resting softly side by side 

Among the rose-lipped shells ; and there 
The tender babe; the manhood's pride; 

The maiden with her floating hair. 
7 



72 MY SAILOR LO VE. 

'Round fleshless skulls the sea-weeds wreathe, 

And white bones strew the ocean's bed ; 
And over all the sad waves breathe 

A requiem for the ocean's dead. 
Oh, Sea! has earth no darksome graves 

To bind the young, the brave, the fair, 
That you make many 'neath your waves, 

And waiting hearts fill with despair? 

I walk the sands to-night alone; 

My heart is filled with haunting fear — 
But, hark ! What is that muffled tone 

That breaks upon my listening ear? 
It is the sound of dipping oars ; 

A boat glides o'er the summer sea ; 
Hope, in my bosom wildly pours 

The thought, My lover comes to me! 

The boat sweeps onward, and its keel 

Finds on the glistening sands a rest. 
A form springs out ! Oh, joy ! I feel — 

My lover clasps me to his breast. 
He tells me of the raging blast 

That drove the good ship from her way ; 
But in the harbor she at last 

Dropped anchor at the close of day. 



MY SAILOR LOVE. 73 

" Deep calleth unto deep ;" and low 

The full moon swings above the sea ; 
My heart has lost its weight of woe, 

My lover has come back to me ! 
Above our heads a gleaming chain 

Of stars gaze on the surging sea; 
My glad heart chants the sweet refrain, 

My lover has come back to me ! 

PART II. 

Three revolutions of the earth 

Have whirled us swiftly into space ; 

Thrice has the day-star given birth 
To happy morning's smiling face; 

Thrice has the sunset's golden bars 

Been drawn to let the day god through ; 

Thrice have the evening's silver stars 
v Shed silver rays from heaven's blue ; 

Thrice has fair Luna's radiant face 

To tender night-thoughts given birth; 
Thrice has calm Night, with silent grace, 

Her mantle spread o'er sleeping Earth 
Since to me came my lover true, 

No more the treach'rous sea to rove. 
All nature smiles ! Sorrow, adieu ! 

To-day I wed my sailor love. 



TO THE MEMORY OF MRS. R. ELLIOTT 
COLLINS. 

Although we gave her back to dust 
With aching hearts, and weeping eyes, 

We know her spirit left its shell 
To soar triumphant to the skies. 

She was a neighbor kind and true, 

A mother fond, a faithful wife, 
And nearly fifty years she trod 

The pathway to eternal life. 

Four children sigh, "Our mother's gone!" 
And wipe away the falling tear ; 

Four angels shout with glad acclaim, 
u Oh, joy ! Our darling mother's here !" 

Another spirit joins the throng, 

And gladly sings, " Oh, welcome wife, 

Companion of my earthly joys ! 

Now partner of my heavenly life !" 

We leave her to eternal bliss. 

Children, lift up your tear-wet eyes, 
And follow in the Savior's steps 

To join your mother in the skies. 



SHE " COMETH UP AS A FLOWER. » 

Her eyes are sweet blue violets, 

And lids like snowdrops shade those eyes, 
And in each soft and dimpled cheek 

A mountain pink half-hidden lies ; 
Her hair is like the crocus gold, 

And with the dancing sunbeam vies; 

"Like a petal of a flower, 

Tiptilted " is her dainty nose; 
Through teeth like lilies of the vale, 

Placed in two white and even rows, 
Her fragrant breath floats gently out, 

And through her lips of deepest rose ; 

Like apple-blossoms is her srkin, 

So delicately pink and white ; 
Like lilies are her slender hands — 

And I shall try with all my might 
To cull this bouquet for my own, 

And cherish it with fond delight. 



IRQUA'S FAREWELL. 

Oh ! raise me up. that I may once more gaze 

Upon the sunset's gold and crimson dyes 
That spread a glory o'er the glassy lake, 

Whose waves reflect the colors of the skies. 
The day is drawing to a brilliant close; 

The sun goes out beyond the Western gates. 
My breath is short! My soul is plumed for flight, 

And for the call of the Great Spirit waits. 



No more my boat shall skim the silent lake ; 

No more for me the quiet waters blue 
Shall yield their finny treasures ; and the sun 

No more shall gild their scales of silver hue; 
No more I'll climb the mountain's lofty swell 

To where the eagle builds his rock- bound nest, 
And draw an arrow with his pinion winged, 

And sheathe it in his lordly, swelling breast. 



IEQUA'S FA RE WELL. 11 

No more ray feet shall tread the mossy paths 

Within the forest's dim, sequestered shade ; 
No more I'll watch the silv'ry winding stream 

Glide through the woodland's shadow-checkered glade ; 
No more the swift and timid wiWwood deer 

Shall flee before my arrow's deadly flight ; 
No more I'll drag the wildcat from his lair, 

And still the voice whose echo fills the night. 

I'll watch no more the noisy waterfall 

That down the mountain springs with mighty leap 
Upon the river's smooth and tranquil breast, 

And in its arms is lulled to quiet sleep. 
No more I'll chase the bison on the plain, 

And stop witli arrow sharp the fleeing game; 
No more I'll watch the red sky's lurid glow, 

As it reflects the raging prairie flame. 

No more I'll gently smoke the pipe of peace, 

Nor shall the council fires my presence know ; 
No more I'll put the hideous war-paint on, 

And lead my mighty braves against the foe. 
No more I'll sit beside my Indian maid, 

And feel her soft cheek blush against my own ; 
I'll gaze no more upon her lovely face, 

Nor hear her gentle voice's dulcet tone. 



78 IRQ UA'S FARE WELL. 

No more to her I'll bring the mountain rose, 

The bluebird's wing, the panther's spotted tail, 
The eagle's plume, the porcupine's sharp quill, 

The pearly shell, the water lily pale. 
No more I'll hold her slender hand in mine, 

Nor shall I press her to my throbbing breast; 
For I must go beyond the sunset's glow, 

And in the happy hunting-grounds find rest- 
No more the rising sun shall see my face ; 

No more the moonlight gild my sleeping form ; 
And nevermore I'll stand beneath the stars; 

For I shall be the prey of the death worm. 
Farewell, thou bright, departing king of day! 

Farewell, thou gleaming stars, by Luna led, 
Who soon shall gem the skies, and sadly gaze 

Upon the still, cold form of Irqua, dead! 

Farewell, thou calm and beautiful blue lake! 

Farewell, the fish that in its waters glide ! 
Farewell, thou mountain grand, with snowy peak! 

Farewell, the cataract upon its side ! 
Farewell, the stirring pleasures of the chase! 

The river broad ! The quiet sylvan shade.! 
The council fires! My mighty Indian braves! 

A fond farewell, my lovely Indian maid ! 



IEQUA'S FAREWELL. 



79 



The sun has gone. The evening's timid star 

Sees in the lake her silver image bright, 
And shorter grows my breath ! The Spirit calls! 

My spirit spreads its wings for instant flight! 
Friends, lay me back upon my couch of skins ; 

I fold my hands and softly close my eyes ; 
I go the happy hunting-grounds to find. 

A last farewell to earth ! and Irqua dies. 



THE LOST GLOVE. 

(HIS CONFESSION.) 

I never shall forget the time 

When first I fell in love; 
'Twas when I found upon the sands 

A little pearl-gray glove. 

Its shape suggested a fair hand, 

So dainty, and so neat, 
And from its folds nn odor rose 

So delicate and sweet. 

I, in imagination, with 

Its owner fell in love; 
A voice spake softly in my ear : 

" Pray, did you find my glove?" 

A lovely maid stood by my side — 

Oh, how my heart did beat! 
She was perfection from her hat 

To soles of dainty feet. 

Two eyes of brown, and snowy brow, 

With golden curls above ; 
A sweet, red mouth, just made to kiss — 

Straightway I fell in love ! 

Some weeks have passed, and on the sands 

I'm happy as a linnet; 
Again I hold that dainty glove — 

Her little hand within it. 



THE RECOVERED GLOVE. 

(HER CONFESSION.). 

I never shall forget the time 
When first I met my love ; 

'Twas when I lost upon the sands 
My dainty pearl-gray glove. 

And as I backward traced my steps 

Along the shining sand, 
I met — oh, such a handsome man ! 

My glove was in his hand. 

Two dark gray eyes, and noble brow 
With dusky locks above ; 

A Grecian nose, a dark mustache — 
Straightway I fell in love ! 

I stole up to his side and said, 
"Pray, did you find my glove?" 

His eyes met mine ; I plainly saw 
We both were dead in love. 

The days glide by. We arm in arm 

Together walk the sand ; 
Again he holds my pearl-gray glove, 

And in it is mv hand. 



MY SWEETHEART. 

Eyes of blue, and golden hair, 
Lips of ruby, forehead fair, 
Teeth of pearl, and voice of dove- 
All belong to her I love. 



Neck of snow, and Grecian nose, 
Lashes long, and cheeks of rose, 
Lily hands, and dainty feet 
Belong to her I think so sweet. 

Ears like sea-shells, glances bright, 
Form of grace, and footstep light, 
Skin of satin — dazzling white — 
Belong to her I wed to-night. 



ISABEL. 

(A CHRISTMAS STORY.) 

Ill an attic, dark and drear, 

A woman sits with white, drawn face, 
Her dark eyes full of blinding tears, 

Her thin hands clasped with weary grace. 
Gray ashes shroud the dying fire ; 

The room is carpetless and bare ; 
Through broken, ragged window-panes 

The north wind shrills a piercing air. 

Like elfin doves, with milk-white breasts, 

All day the snow T -flakes floated down, 
And softly trod, with velvet feet, 

Upon the hill-top's russet crown ■ 
Upon the valley's withered breast ; 

Upon the river's bosom wide ; 
And o'er the stark and barren trees 

They flung the white vail of a bride. 



84 ISABEL. 

Upon the city's spires, and domes, 

And housetops lies a mantle soft 
Whose sparkling whiteness, 'neath the moon, 

Vies with the frosty stars aloft. 
The storm-god rests his snowy head 

Upon the brown earth's chilly breast; 
The north wind wails, and sighs, and moans, 

Like a lost spirit without rest. 

The full moon steers her silver ship, 

With bright sails flying light and free, 
Past floating isles of dusky clouds, 

Upon a purple, star-gemmed sea. 
Through racks of pearl and silver clouds 

Peeps out each gleaming, trembling star 
To watch the bright ship as it sails 

On toward the morning's harbor bar. 

The moonship's sparkling, frosty rays 

Steal through the attic window small. 
They rest upon the woman face, 

And glint the tears that thickly fall. 
She sits beside a lowly cot 

On which her darling husband lies — 
The faint breath flutters on his lips, 

The life light flickers in his eyes. 



ISABEL. 85 

Above his silken, golden curls 

Hovers the darksome angel, Death, 
Waiting to bear the chastened soul 

Beyond the north wind's chilly breath ; 
Beyond the cloudlet's fleecy wings ; 

Beyond the moonlight's pearly bars; 
Beyond the midnight's purple gates; 

Beyond the frosty, silver stars. 

The woman sighs, and mem'ry's gate, 

On jeweled hinges, softly turns. 
She sees again her father's face, 

And for his love her bruised heart yearns. 
Five years ago she was the pride 

And darling of that father's heart, 
With beauty, wealth, an ideal home, 

And heart unpierced by sorrow's dart. 

She sees her mother's lovely face; 

Her blue-eyed sister's golden curls; 
She sees herself as she was then — 

The brightest, happiest of girls ! 
One day there came a handsome youth — 

An artist, with a poet's soul — 
To her fair home, and there transferred 

Her features to a canvas scroll ; 



86 ISABEL. 

And, as beneath his skillful brush 

Her lovely image swiftly grew, 
Upon each heart the elf- god, Love, 

The image of the other drew. 
For love's sweet sake she left them all, 

And with her artist-lover fled. 
Her letter for forgiveness was 

Returned unopened and unread. 

They bought a cottage small and white, 

Embowered by a trailing vine. 
Beneath its dusky, perfumed shade 

They lived in fond love's blest sunshine. 
Their life was all a happy dream 

Until the raging demon, fire, 
Swept o'er the vine-embowered cot 

With flaming wings, and hot breath dire. 

Upon calamity's dark heels 

Misfortunes grim then swiftly trod. 
The artist nursed a fractured limb, 

Then fever swayed its fiery rod 
On reason's throne. For many weeks 

His life hung on a slender thread, 
And all his scant possessions went 

For fuel, medicine, and bread. 



ISABEL. 87 

And now there is no food, no fire, 

No wine to warm the fleeting breath ; 
To send the life blood through the veins; 

To banish the dark angel, Death. 
Grim fever spread its crimson wings, 

And fled with all life's rosy bloom, 
Leaving its victim faint, and crushed, 

And hov'ring near the silent tomb. 

The moon still pencils arabesques 

Of fairy silver on the bed; 
The mystic moon-bars coldly touch 

The cheeks from which the bloom has fled. 
They bar the gold-fringed eyelids down 

In slumber soft that looks like death, 
So pallid are the sunken cheeks, 

So faintly comes the trembling breath. 

The north wind stirs with fingers chill 

The meshes of his golden hair. 
By the low couch the woman kneels, 

Her heart sends forth an anguished prayer : 
"Oh, God ! be merciful to me, 

And grant the plea my crushed heart brings ; 
Let not my husband's poet soul 

Go forth on Hunger's withered wings ! 



ISABEL. 

"Oh, God ! I can not give him up ! 

My darling one ! my all ! my life ! 
Oh ! do not take my husband-love 

From his poor, broken-hearted wife ! 
I can not, can not see him die ! 

I'll strangle pride, and swiftly go 
Unto my father's princely home, 

And beg him to relieve my woe !" 

She draws the tattered coverlet 

Against the cheek so waxen white ; 
One soft kiss, and she flutters down, 

And out into the snow-draped night. 
The north winds whirl the drifting snow 

In gleaming wreaths, and columns high ; 
Like a huge globe of frozen pearl 

The moon swings in the midnight sky. 

The woman swiftly speeds along, 

Nor heeds the many passers-by, 
The jingling sleigh-bells, prancing steeds, 

The light and sparkle of each eye ; 
For 'tis the merry Christmas Eve, 

And joy and gladness rule the night 
Until the morning ushers in 

Sweet Christmas-tide in rosy light. 



ISABEL. 89 

The woman bravely presses on — 

She does not stop to think or rest ; 
The tear drops freeze on her pale cheeks, 

The night wind chills her troubled breast ; 
And when her father's house is reached 

She finds it all ablaze with light, 
And sounds of revelry and mirth 

Ring out upon the moonlit night. 

The happy dancers lightly whirl 

To music's sweet, seductive strains, 
And sparkling eyes, and joy-flnshed cheeks 

Show happiness supremely reigns. 
The woman flits aside to find 

The entrance to a private way 
By the conservatory fair — 

A charming scene her footsteps stay. 

Long avenues of fairy bloom 

Stretch out between the crystal walls ; 
Against the green dusk of the leaves 

The tinted gaslight softly falls 
Through globes of rose and violet; 

A fountain's tinkling silver spray 
Falls, like revolving drops of light, 

Into the marble basin gray. 



90 ISABEL. 

The crystal arches catch the light, 

Like rainbow halos bending o'er 
A scene from elf-land's sunny clime, 

And sprinkles jewels on the floor. 
The lovely scene seems like a gem 

Plucked from bright summer's rosy breast, 
And set in winter's frosty clasp, 

Upon the midnight's icy crest. 

Beside the fountain's brink there stands 

A woman beautiful and fair, 
With azure eyes, and flowing curls 

Of lovelv, sunny, golden hair. 
From music, dance, and happy guests 

One moment has she fled away, 
To rest beside the fountain's brink, 

Beneath the rose's trailing spray. 

The cream}'', lace-trimmed, satin robe 

In gleaming folds falls to the ground. 
No whiter than the slender throat 

Are pearls, that clasp its fairness 'round. 
They bind the curling, golden hair; 

They hold the wrists in milk-white bands; 
The gemmed sticks of her perfumed fan 

Are lightly held by jeweled hands. 



ISABEL. 91 

The lady sighs, " Oh, Isabel ! 

Oh, sister! where are you to-night? 
Oh, will you ever come again 

To glad us with your presence bright?" 
A rustling sound : the woman stands 

Close by her lovely sister's side. 
Her dark eyes glow like ebon stars 

Against the blue ones open wide 

In glad, incredulous surprise. 

One look ; then comes the joyous cry 
Of " Sister !" and the golden curls 

Against the dusky tresses lie. 
The sunken, pale cheeks, hollowed out 

By cruel care, are softly pressed 
To cheeks whose bloom seems stolen from 

The perfumed rose's crimson breast. 

The faint frou-frou of silken skirts 

Breaks on the tinted perfumed air. 
Adown the scented avenues 

A woman seeks her daughter fair. 
She finds her other daughter, too — 

The long-lost, truant Isabel, 
And, as she clasps her to her breast, 

No tongue the mother-joy can tell. 



92 ISABEL. 

Within his velvet-furnished room 

The banker sits, and unshed tears 
Gleam in his eyes so dark and bright. 

His sad thoughts bridge the by-gone years. 
He thinks of lovely Isabel, 

The one-time idol of his life. 
He thinks of how he would not read 

The letter of the artist's wife. 

The father's heart is softened 'neath 

The sweet influence of the years. 
He, now, for his lost darling yearns; 

For her his eyes are bright with tears, 
And through the trembling, bearded lips 

Comes softly, " Isabel, my dear, 
Come back to your fond father's arms!" 

" Oh, father, Isabel is here /" 

He clasps her in a rapt embrace, 

Rains kisses on her wasted cheek. 
Each to the other words of love 

And sweet forgiveness gladly speak. 
Now, hark ! Upon the moonlit air 

Rings out a chime of merry bells ! 
Sweet Christmas bells! Their melody 

Of joy and gladness sweetly tells ! 
***** * 



ISABEL. 93 

The woman who so bitterly 

Trudged through the night relief to find 
Returns behind proud, prancing steeds, 

Within a carriage satin-lined. 
The reunited family 

Soon gather by the artist's bed. 
His blue eyes sparkle now with life; 

He holds his sweet wife's dusky head 

Upon the heart whose quickened beats 

Send to his cheeks a faint pink bloom, 
And baffled Death now flees to find 

Another victim for the tomb ; 
For light and warmth, rich food and wine, 

To the faint breath fresh vigor bring; 
They give the soul new strength and life, 

And still the flutter of its wingr. 

Thrice blessed artist ! for the days 

Shall realize his golden dreams. 
Thrice happy Isabel ! for love 

Around her pathway brightly streams. 
The moonship furls its shining sails 

Within the morning's harbor bay. 
'Mid silv'ry chimes, with golden sun, 

Bursts forth the glorious Christmas day. 



94 



ISABEL. 



Oh, ever blessed Christmas tide, 

As when bright angels rent the sky, 
And sang, " Peace " and " Good will to men !" 

A message from the Lord on High. 
Oh, ever blessed Christ Child fair! 

All nations hail Thy matchless worth, 
And bless the day Thy coming brought 

"Good will to men " and " peace on earth !" 



CONTRASTS. 



A dewdrop sparkling on the breast 
Of a sweet-scented flower; 

An ocean in whose surging waves 
There lurks a mighty power. 

A slender vine upon whose grace 
The sunbeams softly fall; 

A mantle vast of ivy leaves 
Upon a castle wall. 

A spark of fire ; a raging flame 
That sweeps for many miles, 

And leaves black desolation where 
Once lingered joy and smiles. 

A grain of sand ; a desert vast. 

A slender strand of thread; 
A cable strong that anchors ships 

Fast to the ocean's bed. 
9 



9^ CONTRASTS. 

A fleecy cloud; a cyclone dark 
That rends the trembling; air. 

A little acorn in its cup ; 
An oak tree tall and fair. 

One little faintly-gleaming star; 

The heavens all ablaze 
With countless orbs of twinkling light, 

And Luna's silver rays. 

A drop of rain ; a deluge great, 
That drowned a wicked world. 

A flake of snow ; an avalanche 
Adown the mountain hurled. 

A blade of grass; rich pastures green, 
That spread o'er hill and glade. 

A leaflet swaying in the breeze ; 
The forest's dusky shade. 

A little mound on whose green side 

The golden sunlight lies ; 
A mountain grand, with snow-capped peaks, 

That seem to pierce the skies. 

A little worm upon a leaf; 

Rich folds of silken sheen. 
A speck of gold-dust in the sand ; 

The crown of England's queen. 



THE RESULT. 97 

A coral insect in the sea ; 

Great rocks that huge ships doom. 
A fragrant rose-bud in the spring ; 

The Vale of Cashmere's bloom. 

The solemn hush of midnight's hour; 

The busy hum of day. 
A second ; an eternity — 

Forever and for aye. 

The bounding, rosy tide of life ; 

The pallor by death given. 
The fleeting pleasures of the earth ; 

The dazzling bliss of heaven. 



THE RESULT. 

A handsome youth ; a maiden fair; 

A moonlit eve, and no one nigh ; 
A tender glance; a charming smile ; 

A soft hand-clasp ; a gentle sigh — 

A question whispered by the youth 

To dimpled cheeks warm blushes bring; 

A timid " Yes ;" sweet red lips kissed ; 
And the result a wedding ring ! 



MORNING. 

'Tis morn. Young day shakes out her locks 

Of misty, floating gold. She spies 
The pale star-children of the night 

Go fleeing down the western skies. 
She lifts the curtains of the dawn, 

Lets loose the fragrant morning breeze 
Who hies away on fairy wings 

To wake the song-birds in the trees. 



His breath dispels the silver haze 

That curls around the slumb'ring hills. 
His kisses wake the sleeping flow'rs 

Beside the rippling, woodland rills. 
He lifts the incense of the flow'rs, 

And catches up the wood-bird's sweet 
Wild notes upon his gauzy wings, 

And lays them at the young day's feet. 



MORNING. 99 

She clasps them in her radiant arms, 

Spreads wings of amethystine light, 
And bears them to the sunrise gates, 

Throws wide the amber portals bright, 
Lets in the heralds of the sun — 

Pink-lipped, bright-eyed, and golden-curled — 
Whose tinkling feet, with jewels shod, 

Go dancing o'er a waking world. 

Now come the prancing, fiery steeds 

That draw the brilliant, blazing car 
Where sits the sun, enthroned in light, 

Whose flaming scepter gleams afar 
O'er earth and sky. He tosses back 

His tawny hair, 'neath jeweled crest, 
And, sweeping through the sunrise gates, 

He clasps the young day to his breast, 



'WAY DOWN IN OLE VARGINIA. 

(PLANTATION SONG.) 

'Way down in ole Varginia — 

De place whar I was born — 
'Way down in ole Varginia far away 

I worked in fiel's ob cotton, 

An' fiel's ob sugar corn 
From early morn until de close ob day. 

Chorus. 

'Way down in ole Varginia — 

'Way down in ole Varginia, 
De sweet, sunny, Souf-lan' of my birf ! 

'Way down in ole Varginia — 

'Way down in ole Varginia, 
De deares', sweetes' spot upon de earf ! 

Ole massa called us early ; 

We rose up with the lark, 
An' hied away to work amid de cane, 

De rice, an' snowy cotton 

Until 'twas almos' dark — 
Den homeward trooped adown de grassy lane. 



Chorus. 



'WAY DO WN IN OLE VAROINIA. 

De cabins now am em'ty. 

No more de banjo plays; 
No more de happy darkies dance an' sing; 

No more dey hunt de' possum 

By de pine torch's blaze : 
No more de woods wid shouts an' laughter ring. 



101 



Chorus. 



Ole massa now is sleepin' 

Beneaf a grassy moun'; 
Ole missus softly rests close by his side; 

De chillun all hab wandered 

An' oder homes have foun'; 
De darkies all am scattered far an' wide. 

An' when dis life is ended 

I hope in hebben above 
To meet dern all upon de shinin' shore. 

We'll sing de songs ob hebben — 

Ob Jesus an' His love, 
An' gladly praise de Lord forevermore ! 

Chorus to Last Verse. 
Oh, yes ! 'way up in hebben — 
Oh, yes ! 'way up in hebben, 

I'll meet dem all upon de shinin' shore! 
Oh, yes ! 'way up in hebben — 
Oh, yes ! 'way up in hebben — 

We'll gladly praise de Lord forevermore ! 



Chorus. 



IN MEMORY OF MRS. T. M. GREENE. 

On wings of moonlight, and of frost 
The angel Death comes floating down, 

And hovers 'neath the silent stars, 
Above a cold and sleeping town. 

Near four and twenty years ago 
God gave a spirit pure to earth. 

He placed it in a body fair 

Which grew in beauty, and in worth. 

To-night he sends his messenger, 

Now hov'ring 'neath the cold, pale stars, 

To call that spirit back to Him, 
Beyond the moonlight's silver bars. 

Within a chamber, hushed and dim, 
Upon a couch of pain and death, 

Surrounded by fond, breaking hearts, 
Sweet Fannie yields her gentle breath. 



IN MEMORY OF MRS. T. M. GREENE. JC3 

Her spirit hears its Maker's call, 

And plumes its snowy wings for flight — 

Flutters a moment in her breast, 

Then swiftly soars to realms of light. 

Death draws the snowy eyelids down, 
Shuts in for aye the dark eyes' light, 

And binds the silken fringes fast 
Upon the cheeks so waxen white. 

He plucks the roses from the lips, 

And puts the seal of silence there ; 
He softly clasps the slender hands 

Above the pulseless bosom fair. 

He twines a dusky coronal 

Of silken hair above the brow, 
That once contained a brilliant mind, 

But all is chilled and silent now. 

The loving heart, once warm and true, 
He binds in bands of stillness deep; 

The body lies in sweet repose — 
" Asleep in Jesus ; blessed sleep !" 

Oh, husband of this sweet young wife! 

Lift up your heart with grief bowed down; 
You only clasp an empty case — 

The jewel sparkles in His crown. 
10 



104 IN MEMOB Y OF MRS. T. M. GREENE. 

Dear Fannie can not come again, 
And rest upon your loving breast ; 

But you can go to her, and find — 
Beyond the stars — eternal rest. 

Oh, parents of this darling child ! 

Let Jesus wipe your weeping eyes; 
The lily, broken from its stem, 

Transplanted is beyond the skies. 

She is " not lost, but gone before." 
Before she went her tongue confessed 

Her love for Him who died for her — 
And now she is forever blest. 



Oh, friends who mourn this bitter loss ! 

Let not your hearts with wild grief surge; 
Sometime we '11 meet our lovely friend 

Beyond the sunset's golden verge. 



MY KENTUCKY GIRL. 



Her eyes may be of sparkling black, 

Or heaven's blue unfurl, 
Or eyes of brown or gray belong 

To my Kentucky girl. 

Her hair may be of dusk or gold ; 

Be straight or softly curl ; 
Or auburn locks wave from the head 

Of my Kentucky girl. 

Although she may be dark or fair 
She '11 make your senses whirl : 

For none can be compared to her — 
My sweet Kentucky girl. 

Upon her lips two roses red 
Their crimson hearts unfurl; 

Pink roses bloom upon the cheeks 
Of my Kentucky girl. 



106 MY KENTUCKY GIRL. 

Her rippling laugh rings gaily out 
Through teeth of gleaming pearl ; 

A charming nose, and dimpled chin 
Has my Kentucky girl. 

She has a form like Hebe's own ; 

Ears like a sea-shell's whorl. 
Small hands, and dainty little feet 

Has my Kentucky girl. 

And when she talks her silv'ry tones 
Like woodland, June-streams purl ; 

And like the wood-birds are the songs 
Of my Kentucky girl. 

She draws and paints. Her "crazy work" 
Would make your senses whirl ; 

She crochets, knits, embroiders too — 
My smart Kentucky girl. 

O'er organ keys and guitar strings 

Her nimble fingers curl ; 
Pianos echo to the touch 

Of my Kentucky girl. 

At dusting-brushes, brooms, and stoves 

Her sweet lips do not curl ; 
For she is quite a housekeeper — 

My dear Kentucky girl. 



MY KENTUCKY GIRL. 107 

She rides, drives, skates, fishes, and swims; 

And in the dance's whirl 
No other partner can compare 

To my Kentucky girl. 

Croquette mallets and billard cues 

Her little fingers twirl ; 
She plays lawn-tennis — ten-pins, too — 

My brisk Kentucky girl. 

But she is sweet, and modest, too; 

Her red lips she would curl 
At any thing unwomanly — 

My true Kentucky girl. 

She is the ornament of home, 

And of the social whirl 
Of very best society — 

My nice Kentucky girl. 

And when I hold her hand in mine 

Cupid his pinions furl, 
And nestles at the little feet 

Of my Kentucky girl. 

Did I not give my heart to her, 

Oh ! I would be a churl. 
The dearest girl in all the world 

Is my Kentucky girl ! 



108 MY PEE CIO US MAID. 

For her sweet sake I'll brave the blows 
That adverse fate may hurl ; 

For nothing would I e'er give up 
My own Kentucky girl. 



MY PRECIOUS MAID. 

Her eyes are two turquoises blue, 

Her lips are rubies red ; 
Her teeth are gleaming strings of pearls, 

And golden is her head. 

Her laugh rings out in silv'ry tones, 
Her tears are diamonds bright ; 

Her cheeks pink coral, and her brow 
Is alabaster white. 

These gems are set within my heart, 

And soon my home shall be 
A casket for these jewels rare ; 

I '11 lock it with love's key. 



THE LONE GRAVE. 



I. 



In a Western forest's spreading shade 

A lone grave lies 'neath the waving grass, 
Whose slender pennons of tender green 

Nod to the breezes as they pass. 
The lone grave lies at the ancient foot 

Of an old oak tree whose mammoth crown 
Has caught the smiles of a hundred years, 

And withstood a century's dark frown. 

The oak tree spreads out her leafy arms 

In benisons for the unknown one — 
The buried sleeper who dreameth not 

In the far Land of the Setting Sun. 
The squirrels sport 'mid the scalloped leaves, 

And tear from their cups the acorns brown; 
They chatter, and wink their bright, black eyes 

As they toss the rustling nut-shells down. 



110 THE LONE GRA VE. 

The pink wild-rose trails her perfumed robes 

Across the foot of the nameless mound ; 
The violets, in their purple hoods, 

Creep softly over the sacred ground ; 
The daisy presses her milk-white cheek, 

And golden heart to the grassy grave ; 
She lists, but hears not the faintest stir 

Of the heart, now dust, once strong and brave. 

The panther comes with his stealthy tread, 

And calls his mate with an eerie cry ; 
The black spots gleam on her tawny skin, 

As she springs from a covert close by. 
Together they tread with cushioned feet 

Near the lone grave 'neath the forest grass ; 
The startled wood-birds hush their glad songs, 

As the forest beauties slowly pass. 

The wild deer tosses his antlered head, 

And swiftly bounds, with echoless feet, 
Along the green forest's velvet aisles. 

He stops near the grave beneath the sweet 
Blue violets, and white daisy blooms. 

One moment thus, then away he goes, 
Scared by the stir of the rustling hare 

Who has a nest 'neath the pink wild rose. 



THE LONE GRAVE. Ill 

The speckled snake trails his shining length 

Across the grave, and the timid flow'rs 
Shrink from the touch of the gleaming scales. 

The brown mottled wood toad sits for hours 
In silent watch o'er the unmarked tomb. 

The crickets scold the gay butterflies 
For peeping beneath the violets' hoods 

And for kissing the daisies' bright eyes. 

The wood-birds call to their list'ning mates, 

And their songs of sweetest melody, 
Full of the joy the free wild birds feel, 

And replete with tender sympathy, 
Float down through the oak tree's satin leaves 

Like sweet prayers for the soul of the one 
Who heareth not; but sleeps the long sleep 

In the bright Land of the Setting Sun. 

Perhaps the strains of bird melody 

Make a bridge from the earth to the sky, 
Of music whose tender symphony 

Is caught by the seraphim on high, 
And wound in the chain of holy song 

That encircles the realms of the blest 
"Where the wicked cease from troubling, and 

The weary are at rest " — blessed rest ! 



112 THE LONE GRA VE. 

Perhaps up there is the ransomed soul 

Of him. who lies in the lonely grave 
In the western forest's dusky shade 

Where the long, cool grasses gently wave, 
As the summer breeze goes flitting by, 

Out-tossing from its light, unseen wings 
The dreams of the flowers, whispered low, 

And the song the gold-flecked, brown bee sings. 

The sun-king scatters, with royal hand, 

His fairy gold over earth and skies. 
It glitters on trees, and grass, and flow'rs, 

And on the green grave it trembling lies. 
The mid-forest brooklet murmurs low 

A rippling song of tenderest rest — 
A requiem for the unknown dead 

Who sleeps in the lone grave in the West. 

II. 

Where the Northern pines enwrap the hills 

In their fragrant arms of richest green 
That droop 'neath the russet tassled crowns 

That make each pine seem a stately queen 
Whose robes are flecked by the morn's pale gold, 

Or bathed in the glow of the noontide's light, 
Or flushed by the rosy tints of eve, 

Or wrapped in the purple hues of night — 



THE LONE GRAVE. 113 

There stands a cabin of rudest logs 

Within whose walls lives a woman lone 
Whose beautiful eyes of midnight dusk, 

Whose majestic mien would grace a throne. 
Ten years ago the woman had stood 

On the rude sill of the cabin door, 
And wept farewell to her husband dear ; 

Around them had clung their children four. 

The husband went to gather the gold 

Whose gleam is hidden in earth's brown breast, 
Deep down in California's mines. 

He went to win a home in the West 
For wife and babes. Alas ! ten long years 

Of waiting have linked their wings of dusk 
Above the head of the beautiful 

Woman whose heart holds the empty husk 

Of all life's joy. Since that parting hour 

No word has come to the waiting one 
Of the husband lured by hidden gold 

To the far Land of the Setting Sun. 
The children one by one have found rest 

'Neath the green plumes of the moaning pines. 
Their spirits await the mother-soul 

Where the bright Sun of Righteousness shines. 



114 THE LONE GRA VE. 

The woman sits in her cabin lone, 

And feels the flutter of spirit wings 
In her brilliant eves, and rose-flushed cheeks — 

The sparkle and flush that consumption brings. 
They shall not wait long — that angel band ; 

For soon shall the captive soul arise 
From the earth-form, and the cabin home 

To dwell in the Palace of the Skies; 

And there it hopes to meet with the one 

Whom only the wing of Azrael 
Could keep for ten sad, heart-crushing years 

From the wife who loved him long and well. 
Is his the grave on which squirrels toss 

The shattered nuts of the acorn tree, 
And o'er which the wild birds softly sing 

A requiem of sweet melody ? 

III. 

In a cottage by an eastern sea, 

Whose waves are kissed by the morning's sun, 
Lives one whose head is snow-crowned by age — 

One whose span of life is nearly done. 
The door of the vine-clad cottage white 

Frames a picture beautiful to see: 
In a carved arm-chair a woman sits 

With the Holy Book upon her knee. 



THE L ONE GRA VE. 115 

Her hair is white as the winter snows; 

Her eyes are bine as the summer skies; 
Her voice is sweet as the spring bird's call; 

Her form is wrapped in a shawl whose dyes 
Reflect the gorgeous autumnal tints 

In which nature drapes the dying year. 
She reads the tale of the Prodigal 

In a voice whose accents hold a tear. 

She looks away o'er the sunlit sea, 

And thinks of her boy who long ago 
Left his mother's arms, and vine-clad cot 

To join the ranks 'gainst the Southern foe. 
She sees his slender, boyish form clad 

In uniform as blue as his eyes. 
She sees the toss of his golden head 

As to join his regiment he hies. 

But the fair boy has never returned 

To his mother, tho' the years have fled, 
Till five and twenty long years have passed 

Since " The Bonnie Blue Flag " and " The Red, 
White, and Blue" met 'mid the clashing arms, 

And the smoke of battle hid the view, 
And a nation mourned the bitter loss 

Of her sons of the Gray, and the Bine. 



116 THE LONE GRAVE. 

The mother knows that her boy is dead, 

Tho' to her it has never been told 
Where, when, or how the gallant young soul 

Left the brave form for the Gates of Gold. 
Does that form sleep the long, dreamless sleep 

In the western grave where wild beasts tread. 
With noiseless feet, in the long, cool grass 

That gently waves o'er the unknown dead ? 

IV. 

In the sunny South where orange buds 

Expand into star-blooms 'neath the sun, 
Where the mock-bird woos the silver moon - 

When the long, sweet southern day is done, 
Where the proud magnolia's velvet leaves 

In rich perfumed beauty grace the land, 
Where the Mexic Gulf with soft caress 

Breaks in bright waves on the sun-kissed strand- 
There lives one whose heart is broken quite 

With waiting for one who cometh not — 
For one whose feet have not lightly pressed 

For a quarter-century the spot 
Where stands the home of his love and birth. 

The watcher's hands, like the aspen leaves, 
Tremble and shake, and his tear-dimmed eyes 

Glance up at the swallows on the eaves, 



THE LONE GRAVE. 117 

He thinks of his boy who 'neath those eaves 

Kissed last good-byes to his loved ones all — 
To father, mother, and sisters three 

Who gave him up at his country's call. 
The old man sighs, and his snow-white head 

Sinks on his breast in a reverie. 
He sees the grave of his loved wife who 

Rests near the graves of her daughters three. 

His soldier-son has never returned 

To the sweet home of his childhood's glee, 
Tho' the banners of war have long since 

Ceased to wave o'er the land of the free. 
The old man feels that the hand of death 

Detains his boy from his waiting breast. 
He feels that his wife, daughters, and son 

Have long since met in the Land of Rest. 

Yet will he start when the gate latch clicks, 

Touched by the wings of the passing breeze. 
He starts when he hears a footstep press 

The shell-walk under the moss-draped trees. 
He lists when he hears the Mexic Gulf 

Break on the shore with a solemn moan. 
He half hopes 'tis the voice of his boy, 

Tho' a quarter-century has flown 



118 THE LONE GRAVE. 

Since the bright tones of the beardless boy 

Shouted u good-bye," as he rode away 
With his dark eyes flashing, and his heart 

Beating high 'neath his jacket of gray. 
Is his the unknown grave in the West? 

In the forest's shade finds he repose 
'Neath the ancient oak, the daisy blooms, 

The violets, and the pink wild rose? 

V. 

Where the blue Pacific's sunny slope 

Sweeps down to meet the incoming waves 
That sparkle and dimple with delight 

When the joyous breeze his bright face laves 
In the crystal white of curling foam 

That tips each blue wave with plumes of snow, 
While the summer sky bends down to catch 

A glimpse of its stolen blue below — 

There, within sight of the dancing sea, 

Stands a stately mansion, rich and old, 
Within whose walls is the home of taste, 

And culture, backed by the wand of gold; 
But to-day the magic wand of gold, 
• Nor taste's, nor culture's soft silken wings 
Can soothe the grief in the mourners' breasts, 
Nor link again the broken heart-strings; 



THE LONE GRAVE. 119 

For, fair as a lily in the morn. 

The one daughter of the house lies dead. 
Her golden glory of silken hair, 

Still wet with the salt sea waves, is spread 
O'er the pillows of the snow-white couch, 

Like a golden web by fairies spun, 
And spread on the morning's fleecy clouds 

To catch the smiles of the rising sun. 

Like snow-flakes resting on eider-down 

Her small slender hands lie on her breast. 
The curling brown lashes, tinged with gold, 

On the marble cheeks so softly rest. 
Hid is the light of the dark brown eyes — 

Eyes where the love-light tenderly shone. 
The perfect form lies soulless and cold — 

An empty nest with the song-bird flown. 

Five years ago, 'neath the rose-arched gate, 

This maid had stood in the soft moonlight, 
And clung to her handsome lover tall. 

In her dark brown eyes were shining bright 
Tears her love's kisses forbade to fall 

As he held her in a close embrace, 
And pressed a half hundred fond farewells 

In warm kisses on her upturned face. 
11 



120 THE LONE OB A VE. 

He went to visit the busy East, 

Far beyond the Rocky Mountains' range. 
He promised his love to come again 

Before the slim crescent moon should change 
Six times to a radiant silver ball. 

Alas ! The maiden waited in vain 
Till five and sixty round sil'ver moons 

Had dipt their light in the Western main. 

Then weary of waiting — waiting long — 

The dainty maid clasped the pearly glow 
Of her white life in her dimpled hands, 

And quenched it in the Pacific's flow. 
The pale drowned form of the maiden fair 

The incoming waves tossed on the sands; 
And now she lies on the snow-white couch 

With a lily in her cold, dead hands. 

Where is the lover who will not come? 

Or if he should come will come too late? 
Is he dead ? Or is he false to love ? 

Mayhap, the hand of a bitter fate 
Has filled with his form the lonely grave 

Where the forest brooklet murmurs low 
A restful song for the peaceful dead 

As its crystal bubbles come and go. 



THE LONE GRA VE. 1 21 

Sleeps the lover in the unknown grave ? 

Or lies the fond husband dreamless there? 
Or rests there the soldier boy in blue? 

Or the gray-clad youth with dusky hair? 
Perhaps another fills the lone grave? 

Was he buried there by friend or foe? 
Did he calmly sink to peaceful rest? 

Or did his shocked soul through red wounds go? 

Perhaps one of Afric's dusky sons 

Slips back to dust 'neath the old oak tree. 
Perhaps 'tis an almond-eyed Chinese 

From the " Flow'ry Kingdom " o'er the sea. 
Perhaps 'tis a subject of the Queen 

'Neath whose scepter Canada bows low. 
Perhaps 'tis a feathered Indian tall. 

Perhaps 'tis a son of Mexico. 

The forest keepeth its secret well. 

We may not know till the Last Great Day 
Who sleeps 'neath the sweet blue violets, 

The pink wild rose, and daisies gay, 
'Neath the cool shade of the ancient oak 

With a hundred song-birds in its crest, 
Whose tender songs like requiems float 

O'er the lone grave in the distant West. 



TIGHT SHOES. 

Oh, the new shoes ! The brand new shoes ! 
That pinch the feet of fools who choose 
To wear them tight as old "thumb-screws." 

The belle goes mincing down the street ; 
On her face is a smile so sweet, 
As she thinks of her dainty feet ; 

But soon that smile on her sweet face 

Is swept away by a grimace. 

She limps along with halting pace. 

The sun so hot, and little shade — 

Her tight shoes " dratc," and soon the maid 

Does gladly end her promenade. 

She hobbles home ; and getting there 
Draws off those shoes with vicious air, 
And vows no more " those things " to wear. 

Yes, yes, she vows she will refuse 
To wear again those hateful shoes ! 
Those pinching, burning, tight, new shoes. 



THE HOME OF MY CHILDHOOD. 



It stands upon a verdant hill — 
A lovely home, stately and tall, 

And on its many-windowed front 
The western sunbeams softly fall ; 

And, rising from the gravel walk, 
A flight of low, broad steps of stone 

Lead to the porch. The double doors 
Invitingly are open thrown. 

Beyond the doors I glance to see 
A broad, cool hall, a stairway wide, 

And doors of walnut, dark and old, 
Lead to the rooms on either side. 

Sweet flowers bloom about the porch, 
And spread out on the sloping lawn. 

Their hues reflect the sunset skies, 
And catch the colors of the dawn. 



124 THE HOME OF MY CHILDHOOD. 

A California trumpet flow'r 

Has climbed a locust's rugged side, 

And high amid the branches green 

It swings its scarlet blooms with pride. 

The summer-house is clustered o'er 
With vines, and honeysuckles sweet ; 

And daffodils, and pansies, too, 

Are blooming near the cool retreat. 

Three cypress towers rear aloft 

Their blooms of yellow, white, and red. 

The sweet-pea floats its scented breath 
Above a pink tea-rose's head. 

And — diamond-shaped, and large and white 
Three trellises their burdens hold 

Of fragrant honeysuckle cups — 
The black, the coral, and the gold. 

High on a mound a monster stump, 
With spreading roots, inverted stands. 

A clinging vine trails o'er it all, 

And clasps the roots with em'rald bands. 

A wild rose twines along the fence 
And spreads its blooms for many feet. 

A calycanthus, standing near, 

Throws in the air an incense sweet. 



THE HOME OF MY CHILDHOOD. 125 

A white rose-tree stands by the house — 

A monster rose-tree thick and tall. 
Thirty summers its creamy blooms 

Have brushed against the red brick wall. 

White lilies nod their stately heads ; 

Geraniums bloom in the light; 
And many sweet old-fashioued flow'rs 

Vie with the new in colors bright. 

A fuschia swings its perfumed bells ; 

Two oleanders, tall and fair, 
Bloom in large tubs; and all around 

Are roses — roses everywhere. 

Bright butterflies, and humming-birds, 

And bees are flying in the air, 
And visiting each flower cup, 

And sipping the sweet nectar there. 

Tall trees spread out their leafy boughs, 
And proudly lift their stately heads 

Up toward the sun ; and checkered shade 
Lies on the grass and flower-beds. 

The white trunks of the poplar trees 

Like silver gleam amid the green. 
The glancing sun and rippling breeze 

Show forth the thin leaves' silver sheen. 



126 THE HOME OF MY CHILDHOOD. 

And, like two giant sentinels, 

Two mighty gum trees tower high, 

And spread abroad their waxen leaves 
Against the azure of the sky. 

And, near the turning of the walk, 

Above a bed of flowers fair, 
A tree of heaven's slender leaves, 

And branches lithe, sway in the air. 

A tree of " scaley " hickory 

Stretches its great length toward the skies. 
On many slender locust trees 

The dancing, golden sunlight lies. 

A mighty monarch of the woods — 
A mammoth oak tree broad and tall — 

Spreads its cool shade above the ground 
That echoes to the croquet ball. 

At its foot rests a rustic seat, 

And from its boughs a splendid swing 

Is slowly swaying in the breeze, 

Like a huge bird with broken wing. 

Beside, and far beyond, the yards, 
The gardens, and the orchards too, 

And lots, and fields, and woodland glades 
Spread out in one enchanting view. 



THE HOME OF MY CHILDHOOD. 127 

Deep in the old orchard's green heart 
A limpid stream comes bubbling up. 

Ah ! many cool refreshing draughts 
I've dipped out with my little cup. 

A rippling creek comes swiftly down, 
And curls along the hill's green base. 

The dancing sunbeams on the waves 
The sparkling bubbles gayly chase. 

Upon the hillside's grassy slope, 

Beneath a huge oak's swelling crest, 

Clasped in the arms of Mother Earth, 
Six dreamless sleepers softly rest, 

One was a blue eyed baby-boy 

Who, more than thirty years ago, 
A few days lingered in this world 

Then passed beyond this vale of woe. 

And more than twenty years ago 

A little dark-eyed infant maid 
Was placed beside the baby-boy 

Beneath the myrtles' purple shade. 

Nine years ago our father's form 

Was placed beneath the summer sod. 

In two more years our mother's soul 
Had flown unto the arms of God. 
12 



128 THE HOME OF MY CHILDHOOD. 

One grave contains the sacred dust 
Of one who was a fair young wife — 

Our cousin. Many years ago 

Grim death cut short her happy life. 

Scarce two short years have gone by since 
An uncle went to his long rest; 

The last grave mound was pressed above 
His soft gray hair and pulseless breast. 

The murmur of the sparkling creek 
That ripples o'er its rocky bed, 

The rustling leaves, the wild bird's song 
All chant a requiem for the dead. 

Rest sweetly in thy lowly beds, 
Ye sleepers six ! The golden bars 

Of sunlight lie upon thy graves — 
Thy spirits soar beyond the stars! 

Upon the summit of the hill 

The old home stands amid the trees 

That echo to the wild birds' songs, 
And to the whisper of the breeze. 

Remembered are the happy days 
I've passed within the mansion old 

With parents, sister, brothers six — 
And none were missing from the fold. 



TO THE MEMORY OF MRS. WM. GREENE. 129 

We filled the spacious rooms with glee ; 

The porticos, the breezy halls, 
And stairways echoed to our tread, 

And laughter gay, and merry calls. 

But all is changed! The children all 
Have flown like birds to other nests; 

The father and the mother dwell 
Beyond the sunset's golden crests. 

Farewell, sweet home! Upon my heart 

Thy image like a blessing lies. 
May father, mother, children all 

Meet in that Home beyond the skies. 



TO THE MEMORY OF MRS. WILLIAM 
GREENE. 

A matron, on whose noble brow 

Sat tenderness and grace, 
And in whose warmly beating heart 

Kind thoughts always had place. 

As wife, her life was without blame ; 

But passed in Virtue's ray 
With him who won her maiden heart 

In youth's bright, happy day. 



]30 TO THE MEMORY OF MRS. WM. GREENE. 

As mother, her true worth appeared : 

Like Cornelia of old, 
Her children were her jewels 

Of richest worth untold. 

As Christian, she devoted was 

To Heaven's Holy Son, 
And on his breast her spirit found 

Sweet rest when life was done. 

Sleep on, sweet wife ! Let Jesus heal 
Thy husband's broken heart. 

May Death his soul with thine unite 
In heaven, to never part. 

Sleep on, fond mother! God will bind 
Thy children's spirits sore, 

And bear thy "jewels" to the sky 
To shine there evermore. 

Rest sweetly, Christian, in thy grave 

Beneath the winter sod! 
Thy form must mingle with the dust — 

Thy spirit is with God. 



GRIEVE NOT. 

WRITTEN IN MEMORY OF MY NAMESAKE. 

Fond parents, grieve not for thy babe 

Because the angel, Death, 
Has pressed the silk-fringed eyelids down, 

And sealed them with his breath ; 

Grieve not because he coldly clasped 

The tiny, dimpled hands, 
And bound them on the tender breast 

With rigid, icy bands ; 

Grieve not because the cooing tongue 

A prisoner is made 
Within the red mouth's velvet walls; 

Grieve not because the shade 

That softly rested on the lips — 
Like rose-buds half in bloom — 

Is stolen by the angel, Death, 
And hidden in the tomb ; 

Grieve not because the little heart 

Lies dead within the breast; 
Grieve not because the dainty feet 

Forever are at rest ; 



132 TO LOR A. 

For though grim Death with chilly arms 
The little form may bind, 

He only clasps an empty shell — 
The soul he could not find. 

The spirit fair has swiftly flown 

Beyond the gates of day. 
Unto the arms of " God, who gave " — 

By Him 'twas called away. 

The precious life — the early death — 
To thee by Him were given 

To wean thy spirits from the earth, 
And link thy hearts to heaven. 



TO LOR A. 

Accept this little token 

From one who loves you well, 
And may thoughts of the writer 

Long in your mem'ry dwell. 
Though miles now roll between us 

(Our lives — not hearts — divide) 
Dear, love me still as fondly 

As when left I your side. 



TO LOBA. 133 

Accept this little poem — 

A sign of love from me — 
With tender loving wishes 

That all your life may be 
Bright — happy as the sunbeams 

That with the cloudlets play 
On this anniversary — 

Your birth, and wedding day. 

May your happy, wedded love 

Be true as it is now 
When time, with ruthless fingers, 

Writes furrows on your brow; 
When silver threads he places 

Among your auburn curls 
He'll not throw down the banner 

That Cupid still unfurls. 

May frngrant, thornless roses 

Along life's way be thrown ! 
And when the dark Death-Angel 

Shall claim you for his own 
May angels' wings uphold you, 

And Christ's redeeming love 
Guide you o'er the dark river 

To brightest realms above ! 



BABY MAY. 



Shall I tell you of our fay — 
Of our little Baby May, 
Winsome as June's sweetest day ? 

When the birds were blithe and gay, 
August's second sunny day 
Brought to us our Baby May. 

In the velvet of her eyes, 

With their look of sweet surprise, 

Midnight's mantle softly lies ; 

And the eve-star's tender light, 
'Neath long lashes, sparkles bright 
In her eyes of darkest night. 

Silken darkness in her hair 
Floats, with kisses light as air, 
On a brow blue-veined and fair. 



BABY M AY. 135 

Wild rose blooms lie on her cheek, 
And her dainty red lips seek — 
Lips that coo; but can not speak. 

Darling little Baby May! 

Charming as a perfect day 

When the gold and brown bees play 

With the rose's trailing spray, 
And the birds are sweet and gay — 
None so sweet as Baby May. 

May the purest, sweetest flow'rs 
Culled from this life's fairest bow'rs 
Ever crown this babe of ours ! 

May the angels watch and pray, 
From her birth to dying day, 
Over little Baby May ! 

When in death her fair form lies, 
May her radiant spirit rise 
Far beyond the azure skies, 

To that Realm of Perfect Day ! 
And may Jesus sweetly say, 
"Welcome, welcome, Angel May!" 



BEFOEE THE DAWN. 

High up in heaven's dark blue arch 

Sits Luna on a silver throne, 
And subject stars, with paling cheeks, 

Her sov'reign presence own. 
Beneath her feet, upon the breast 

Of mother Earth, sleeps dusky Night, 
Dreaming of his fair spouse, the Day, 

And of their child, Twilight. 



The " Seven Sisters " in the east, 

Shed their sweet influence afar 
O'er mother Earth, and dreaming Night, 

And on each "sister" star; 
And, near the zenith, Lyra casts 

Her sparkling glances o'er the scene; 
And, in the south, Andromeda 

Sheds forth her silver sheen. 



BEFORE THE DA WN. 137 

The steady Pointers 'neath the pole, 

From northern depths look meekly up 
To where their sovereign gently pours 

The wine of light from silver cup. 
Jupiter, herald of the Day, 

Shines softly from the fading sky ; 
And o'er the misty eastern hills 

Pale Twilight draweth nigh, 

And softer grows the heaven's bine. 

The smaller stars go first to rest. 
The pale light of the Pleiades 

Fades from each "sister's" breast. 
The wondrous change goes swiftly on ; 

And, hidden from our mortal eyes, 
The hands of angels shift the scenes, 

And wonders of the skies. 

The glories of the night dissolve 

Into the glories of the dawn ; 
The bine sky turns more softly gray ; 

And, like the timid fawn, 
The great watch stars prepare to flee 

As in the kindling eastern skies 
Shine timidly pale rays of light 

Of amethystine dyes. 



138 



BEFORE THE DA WN. 



A few light clouds float in the skies, 

Like truant white lambs gone astray 
In heaven's soft and azure fields ; 

And soon the coining Day 
Peeps through the portals of the east, 

And smiles to see the foolish moon 
Who, pale with envy, steals away, 

And fades from heaven soon. 



A morning breeze springs from the hills, 

And rocks the wood-bird in her nest, 
Who, waking, pours her matin hymn 

From grateful, swelling breast. 
Soon all the land is filled with song 

As feathered songsters greet the Day ; 
And dew-drops into jewels turn 

Beneath the sun's first ray. 



AN EPITAPH. 

Here youth and beauty softly sleep 

Within the green earth's tender breast, 

And, 'neath this marble, buried deep, 
Here fondest hopes forever rest. 

Here Friendship brings regret and tears- 
Sweet tributes to bright Memory. 

Here Love recalls the bygone years 
With sighs of bitter agony. 



Beyond the skies a spirit waits, 
And beckons ns with lily hand 

Unto the radiant Pearly Gates 
That open to the Better Land. 



UNDER A BIG UMBRELLA. 

The rain poured down. She tripped along 

Under a big umbrella ; 
And on her lips a lively song — 

No wild bird could excel her. 

He briskly stepped along the street 

Under a big umbrella, 
And when with her he chanced to meet, 

He thought no harm to tell her 

To grasp him tightly by the arm, 

And shut her big umbrella; 
And his should shield her from the rain — 

The lovely dark-eyed Stella. 

He gazed upon her blushing cheek, 

And softly he did tell her 
His love, and she a "Yes" did speak 

Under his big umbrella. 

* % >K >K >iv * 

And now she is his little wife — 

No other can excel her ; 
And they together face life's storms 

Under one big umbrella. 



THE BRUNETTE. 

Her eyes like dusky stars shine through 
Long, silken lashes dark as night; 

Her hair in rippling waves falls from 
A brow of alabaster white ; 

Her pouting lips are soft and red, 
Like crimson cherries ripe and rare; 

And in her checks carnation pinks 

Play hide and seek with dimples there. 

Archest glances ; pearly teeth 

Gleaming between her lips so red, 

Like pearls on a red rose's breast ; 

White neck upholding a proud head; 

Rounded arms, and dimpled hands; 

A form like Hebe's; dancing feet; 
A skin like white japonicas; 

A merry laugh like music sweet — 

All — all make up a silken chain 
To bind my heart unto my pet ; 

For she has promised to be mine — 
My bright, enchanting, sweet brunette 



THE CONSERVATORY. 

The conservatory to me 

Is a place of purest delight, 
With its many lovely blooms 

Of perfumes sweet, and colors bright. 
Geraniums of ev'ry hue 

Lift up their blushing cheeks to meet 
Admiring looks; and roses rare 

Send from their hearts an incense sweet. 



Here blooms the delicate tea-rose — 

Blushing as sweetly as a bride; 
And here the moss-rose-bud peeps forth — 

Red roses flaming by its side. 
The fuschias nod their scarlet bells 

That from their stems swing light and free. 
Here brightly bloom carnation pinks; 

And here, close by the lemon tree, 



THE CONSERVATORY. 143 

Their mantles of purple and gold 

The velvet-hearted pansies spread; 
And near the scarlet cactus blooms 

The English daisy lifts its head. 
Tuberoses hold their scented cups 

Above the Parma violet ; 
And near the white japonica 

Bloom fragrant sprays of mignonette. 

A lily of the Nile rears up 

Its snowy cup, stainless and white, 
And, ever nodding, in its breast 

Nestles the golden stamen bright; 
And softly from its golden heart 

A delicate perfume steals up — 
Like incense from a censer swung: — 

And wreathes around the velvet cup. 

A transmigrationist would say 

The spirit of Cleopatra 
Had found a regal flower-throne 

Upon the lily's golden bar. 
If she was charming as this flow'r, 

I wonder not that Anthony 
Could love her better than his life, 

And to her charms a bond-slave be. 
13 



144 THE CONSERVATORY. 

Here many other lilies bloom ; 

The dainty lily of the vale ; 
The yellow lily ; and the red ; 

The holy Easter lily pale ; 
The fair sweet lily of Japan 

Looks pure and soft as a white dove. 
The leopard lily flaunts its spots. 

The water lily floats above 

The water in its massive tub. 

Here blooms the oleander tall ; 
And here the tropical fig tree 

Spreads its green branches on the wall. 
Here flourishes the orange tree 

With golden fruit, and blossoms white. 
Here grows the little larkspur pert, 

Like a wee, purple, night-capped sprite. 

And many other dainty flow'rs 

Softly nestle in scented beds; 
And many other brilliant blooms 

Proudly lift up their perfumed heads. 
My soul with rapture does expand 

To see them bloom, ami sway, and nod ; 
For flowers are the stars of earth ; 

The softest, sweetest smiles of God. 



ON THE TRAIN. 

Rushing through the sunshine of a fair midsummer's morn 
With earth and sky in harmony of beauty heav'n-born, 
Of golden sun, smiling lands, and azure dome above 
Linked by the hand of Nature unto the hand of Love. 

The vail of morning rises, and floats away in mist 
With silver edge encrirasoned, and tinged with amethyst. 
The sunbeams fill the valleys, and dance upon the hills, 
And catch the golden bubbles upon the rippling rills. 

Thebirdslilt in thesunshine, and flash their shining plumes 

Above the dainty flowers who smile back in perfumes. 
The grasshoppers chirp gayly to crickets in the grass. 
The tinkle of the herd-bells makes music as we pass. 

The engine dashes onward, and draws its rushing train 
Through meadows, hills, and valleys, and fields of rustling 

grain. 
We rush up to the stations, one moment stay our flight, 
Then on again we madly fly through summer sunshine 

bright. 

We whirl across the bridges, and we. glide around the 

curves ; 
We plunge into the tunnels, and the engine never swerves; 
But onward, ever onward with hot breath, and smoky 

wings 
It flies, and pauses not to hear the song that Nature sings : 



146 ON THE TRAIN. 

Corn in the valleys, 

Wheat upon the hills, 
Cattle browsing dreamily 

Beside the meadow rills ; 
Birds singing gayly, 

The woods with music ring; 
God's smile in the sunshine 

Lies soft on every thing. 

The land is filled with plenty, and the harvest is at hand, 
And Nature's cornucopia is emptied on the land. 
The rattle, and the clatter, and the whistle of the train 
Is mimicked by the thresher as it throws the ripened 
grain. 

The engine screams defiance as it rushes toward the noon 
That, led by smiling sunbeams, has come out to meet us 

soon. 
We pause to dine in comfort, then on, on we go again 
With hearts exhilarated by the motion of the train. 

The afternoon is waning, and the evening cometh on, 

And still we rattle onward until the day is done; 

Then the engine shrieks a farewell, and panting with its 

run 
Whirls our journey to an ending at the setting of the sun. 



WHAT IS MY LITTLE LOVE TO ME? 

What is my little love to me? 
A streamlet sparkling on its way 

Humming a merry tune; 
A white lamb gamboling in glee; 
A perfect flower scented day 

In sunny, balmy June. 

What is my little love to me? 
A water lily's snowy crown 

Upon the river's breast; 
A sea-shell singing of the sea ; 
A fountain with the sunlight thrown 

Upon its silv'ry crest. 

What is my little love to me'.' 
A golden-hearted daisy white; 

A pansy blossom fair; 
A wild bird lilting from a tree : 
A rosy cloud with sunset bright ; 

A priceless jewel rare. 

What is my little love to me? 
A cherry hanging in the sun ; 

A red rose-bud half-blown ; 
A sunbeam dancing o'er the lea. 
She's full of mischief and of fun, 

And soon she'll be my own. 



148 THE THISTLE-SHIP. 

The meshes of her golden hair, 
The sparkle of her azure eyes 

Hold me her prisoner. 
She's all that's lovely, sweet and fair, 
Tender, true, beautiful and wise — 

I'd give my life for her. 



THE THISTLE-SHIP. 

One morn I caught a thistle-down 

And freighted it with kisses, 
And blew it far away upon the summer air ; 

It spread its airy, silver sails, 

And softly glided onward 
Across the meads and hills, unto a garden fair. 

And there it met a little maid 

With hair like summer sunshine, 
And sweeter than the flower-sweets the wild bee sips; 

The thistle-ship dropped softly down, 

Let go its silver anchor, 
And left its freight upon the maiden's smiling lips. 



OLD MARGARET'S STORY. 

And so, my pretty lass, you wish 

To hear the story of my life? 
To know why I am lone and sad? 

Why I have never been a wife 
Though three score years and ten have passed 

O'er this bent form, and whitened hair ? 
Ah ! lassie, I was once like you — 

So blithe and gay, so young and fair. 



These eyes, now dimmed by many tears, 

Once sparkled like twin azure stars; 
This hair, now white with age and grief, 

Was golden as the sunset bars ; 
These withered cheeks were tinged with rose; 

This mouth once full of teeth like pearls 
Behind soft lips crimson with youth ; 

And I the merriest of girls. 



150 OLD MARGARETS STORY. 

This form, now bowed, was straight and tall, 

These wrinkled hands were soft and white; 
No lass in all the village round 

Could vie with me in dances light. 
Ah, me ! These feet are trembling now 

Upon the brink of Death's dark stream ; 
Soon shall they tread the Farther Shore 

Of whose bright sands I ofttimes dream. 

Now, lass, my story I will tell : 

My life was made of happy hours, 
Linked by the rosy hand of youth 

To music, laughter, joy and flow'rs; 
The bright hours whirled their silken chains 

Until they bound about my brow 
A wreath of twenty golden years 

Undimmed by sorrow's bitter flow. 

Then Love came softly sweeping down, 

On angels' wings, and with his sweet, 
Strange whispers stole my truant heart, 

And laid another at my feet. 
My lover was an Englishman 

Of noble birth — manly and tall — 
Who came with friends, fishing-rods, guns, 

And dog's into our village small 



OLD MARGARET'S STORY. 151 

To while away a month in sport. 

Each morn they went, with dogs and guns, 
To chase the forest's bounding game ; 

Or where the mighty river runs 
They strolled, and watched the tender light 

Of sunset on the water rest, 
Or drew, with line and barbed hook, 

The speckled treasures from its breast. 

Then I was called "the village belle," 

And ere the happy month had flown 
Lord Morristone had won my heart, 

And given unto me his own. 
Oh, life was filled with ecstasy, 

And singing birds, and blooming flow'rs, 
And through the joyous summer days 

The sunbeams chased the happy hours. 

Alas ! alas ! there came the day 

When from my true-love I must part. 
My lover sailed across the sea, 

And carried with him all my heart. 
He sailed away across the sea 

Unto his princely English home; 
But, ere the daisies bloomed again, 

He promised o'er the sea to come, 
14 



152 OLD MARGARET'S STORY. 

And claim me for his bonnie bride. 

The Summer slept in Autumn's arms; 
Then Winter spread his robe of snow 

Upon the Autumn's gorgeous charms; 
Then Spring came softly o'er the lulls, 

And shook the violets awake, 
And whispered to the daisies white, 

Who ope'd their bright eyes for her sake ; 

But still my lover did not come. 

Sweet April passed away in tears, 
And May gave place to blooming June; 

The passing summer filled with fears 
My waiting heart. Then autumn winds 

Sighed sadly 'round my cottage home; 
Then winter brought the Christmas tide ; 

But still my lover did not come. 

One day. when March winds fiercely blew, 

Young Arvin Gray came to my side ; 
And once more told me of his love, 

And begged me to become his bride. 
Unheeded at my careless feet 

For many months his heart had lain, 
And many times his ready tongue 

Had pleaded for my love, in vain. 



OLD MARGARET'S STORY. 153 

Full often had I told him that 

My heart had gone beyond the sea 
With Clarence, Lord of Morristone; 

And Arvin oft declared to me 
My love was false, and nevermore 

My Clarence would come back to claim 
The village maid, whose beauty won 

The promise of his lordly name. 

That cold March day, young Arvin Gray 

Declared, with scorn, he could not see 
Why I should still be true to one 

Whose absence proved him false to me. 
I fiercely turned on Arvin Gray, 

And vowed that with my latest breath 
I'd be the wife of Morristone, 

Or be the virgin bride of Death. 

Old Time took up the silken thread 

That bound my twenty golden years, 
And linked unto them fifty more 

Long years of waiting, grief, and tears. 
All those I love have long since gone 

Across Death's mystic, silent sea. 
His absence proves my lover dead, 

His heart was never false to me. 



154 OLD MARGARET'S STORY. 

The years have fled, and Arvin Gray- 
Holds children's children on his knee. 

Soon shall the angel Azrael 

Bear him across Death's darksome sea. 

Soon shall my own tried, waiting soul 
Fold its tired wings in heav'nly rest; 

Soon shall the starry daisies bloom 

O'er this white head, and shrunken breast. 

What is that? See, lass, see who knocks 

l T j>on my humble cottage door! 
The grandson of old Arvin Gray? 

He says his grandsire died at four 
This morn, and in his desk was found 

This letter bearing all my name? 
And that to bring it to me was 

The errand upon which he came? 

Quick, lassie! Bring my spectacles! 

Ah, 'tis his writing! God above! 
Full half a century has passed 

Since these old eyes were bright with love 
Of him who wrote these faded lines — 

The date is fifty years ago : 
"Dear Margaret, I've come to claim 

My waiting bride, pure as the snow. 



OLD MARGARET'S STORY. 155 

" When sunset tints with red and gold 

The ripples on the river's breast 
Come, meet me at the trusting- place — 

The daisy-bank whose em'rald crest 
Shall soon be studded o'er with gems 

Of starry whiteness. Come, my own, 
With love-winged feet, to gladly meet 

Your own, true Clarence Morristone." 

Oh, why have fifty cruel years 

So long delayed this message sweet '.' 
But, lass, what is that fallen slip 

Of paper near your little feet? 
What's that? "Signed 'Arvin Gray'," you say? 

(Juick! Let me see the lines he wrote : 
"I bribed the messenger to give 

To me Lord Morristone's love note. 

" I met him at the trysting place. 

His eager fingers lightly held 
The first white daisy-bud of spring. 

I crept behind him, and I felled 
Him to the earth • then springing down 

I thrust my sharp knife in his side, 
And touched his heart. His corpse I cast 

Upon the river's restless tide." 



156 



OLD MARGARET'S STORY. 



Oh, God ! My God ! Can fifty years 

Have changed my golden locks to snow? 
Oh, God ! My God! Have fifty years 

Not quenched my heart-fire's vivid glow? 
But, hush! What is that tender sound? 

'Tis music sweeter than the breeze 
That sweeps the wind-harp's silver strings, 

And stirs the leaflets on the trees. 



What is that light I see — I see? 

Look, lass! A thousand angels come 
To bear me on their radiant wings 

Unto my glorious, heav'nly Home ! 
My Clarence leads the shining throng! 

Oh, lassie, let no vain regret — 
Farewell — farewell — I go — he calls, 
" Come, ever-faithful Margaret !" 




WITH COMPLIMENTS OF THE SEASON. 

What is it that so often comes 
To cheer the rich, and lowly homes? 
And o'er this wide, free country roams? 
The Courier-Journal. 

What cheers the soldier in his tent? 
The miner o'er his pick-axe bent ? 
And smooths the brow of discontent? 

The Courier- Journal. 

What greets the rich man in his hall? 
The beauty dressing for a ball? 
The miller by the waterfall? 

The Courier-Journal. 



What brings the sewing girl good cheer? 
What drives away the mourner's tear ? 
What wins the prisoner from fear? 

The Courier-Journal. 



158 WITH COMPLIMENTS OF THE SEASON. 

What greets the farmer at his plow ? 

What smooths the banker's wrinkled brow? 

And troubled thought will not allow'.' 

The Courier- Journal. 

What fills the school-girl's heart with joy ? 
What is sought by the bold school-boy ? 
And welcomed by the maiden coy ? 

The Courier-Journal. 

What is it that grandma enjoys? 
And all the little girls and boys, 
To hear it read, forsake their toys ? 

The Courier-Journal. 

What is it that is loved by all — 
By every body, great and small, 
Who for its companionship call? 

The Courier- Journal. 

Oh, may its great prosperity 
Of endless continuance be ! 
May each day ever bring to me 

The Courier-Journal. 



THE MERMAN'S WOOING. 

(A SONG.) 

Fair mortal, come with me 
To my deep, deep sea home, 

And through my princely halls 
Together we will roam — 

Through palaces of gold 

With gem-bespangled floors, 

And ceilings decked with pearls, 
And jewel-studded doors, 

And amber window-panes 
In silver casements bright. 

The crystal chandeliers 
Give forth a radiant light. 

Thousands of mirrors large 
Reflect the dazzling rays 

From ceilings, floors, and walls, 
And doors with gems ablaze. 



160 THE MERMAN'S WOOING. 

We'll walk the shining sands 
Beneath the waters blue, 

And gather up the gems 
That lie there of ev'rv hue. 

There lie turquoises blue, 
Yellow topazes bright, 

Rich purple amethysts, 

And pearls of snowy white. 

There lies the ruby red; 

The emerald bright green ; 
The opal's dainty tints; 

The diamond's brilliant sheen ; 

The moss-agate's brown veins; 

The cameo's pink hue. 
Beryls and sapphires rest 

Beneath the waters blue. 

The sea- weeds catch the tints 
Of all the jewels rare, 

And beautiful are they — 

Naught with them can compare. 

We'll visit coral caves 

Beneath the crystal rocks, 

And watch the mermaids fair 
Comb out their golden locks; 



A THOUGHT. 161 

But none so fair as thou! 

No locks so bright as thine! 
Oh, lovely mortal maid ! 

Oh, say, wilt thou be mine? 

Oh, come! Oh, come with me 

To my deep, deep sea home, 
And thou shalt be my bride ! 

Fair mortal, wilt thou come"? 



A THOUGHT. 

I heard a little maiden call • 
Her pretty pigeons three, 
"Reality, and snowy Art, 
And sweetest Poetry." 

" Reality " flew to her hand ; 
" Art" found a golden rest 
Amid her curls ; while " Poetry " 
Was clasped unto her breast. 

I clasp hands with Reality; 

My head bows down to Art; 
While Poetry is fondly clasped 

Forever to mv heart. 



THE FROLIC OF THE FAIRIES. 

(A CHRISTMAS POEM.) 

In far-off Elf-land's sunny clime 

The Fairies gather near their queen, 

And bow their radiant, gem-crowned heads 
Before the bright throne's starry sheen, 

Where sits the queen of Elf-land's glory, 

Whose praises ring in song and story. 

The dainty queen reclines with grace 
Upon her throne of pearl and gold, 

Bedecked with gems whose sparkling hues 
The rainbow's brilliant tints unfold. 

The floor of gold and silver bright 

Reflects the opalescent light. 

Hundreds of crystal mirrors catch 
And flash again the charming scene; 

Thousands of elves with jeweled wings 
Flutter and bow before their queen, 

Whose scepter is a ray of light 

Tipped by a star of dazzling white. 



THE FROLIC OF THE FAIRIES. 163 

Her crown is made of rarest gems, 

Whose magic depths hold captive stars, 

Who beat their sparkling, trembling wings 
Forever 'gainst the tinted bars. 

She needs no crown to prove her queen ; 

'Tis writ in her majestic mien. 

Her dress is daintiest of lace, 

Wrought from the cobweb's airy thread, 
And 'broidered with the purest pearls 

That ever graced the ocean's bed. 
Carved from the ruby's rosy glow 
Are sandals clasping feet of snow. 

Her wings of amethystine hue 

Spread out, and far above her hair, 

Whose floating cloud of gold enshrines 
Her face, the fairest of the fair. 

On her transcendent beauty gaze 

A thousand thousand subject fays. 

The sprites, emboldened by her smiles, 

And by her royal, gracious mien, 
Flock 'round the throne, and gayly ask 

Permission of the Elfin queen 
To leave fair Elf-land's golden glow, 
And on a tricksy journey go. 



164 THE FROLIC OF THE FAIRIES. 

A visit to the planet Earth — 

The dark brown ball that swings beneath, 
With song-birds, verdure, grace all gone, 

Chilled by the winter's icy breath. 
The Fairies 'round the Fay Queen press, 
Until she brightly answers, "Yes." 

Then flutter wings in perfumed air, 
As through the dazzling palace halls 

The Fairies dance with gleeful shouts 
Until they reach the outer walls, 

Where gleams the gate whose opal bars 

Are crowned by radiant, silver stars. 

Without the gate the full moon spreads 

Her silver web along the sky 
To catch the little truant stars 

Whose shining boats go sailing by. 
The bright stars laugh to see the fays 
Plunge safely through the magic rays, 

As through the opal bars they glide, 
And outspread wings of pearly light, 

And whirling, floating, sailing down 
They go, a mass of dancing, white, 

Soft creatures. Soon they find a rest 

For twinkling feet on Earth's brown breast. 



THE FROLIC OF THE FAIRIES. 165 

They tear the laces from their robes, 

The pearls and diamonds from their hair, 

The sapphires from their necks and breasts, 
And toss them gayly everywhere 

Upon the cities, and the towns, 

And on the meadows, hills, and downs. 

They spread their ermine mantles on 

The shivering and naked trees, 
Who shrink beneath the moon's cold gaze, 

And tremble in the chilly breeze. 
Soon all the earth is draped in white — 
A lily on the breast of night. 

The waning moon at Elf-land's gate 

Throws down a bridge of pale, soft light, 

O'er which the Fairies homeward go 

With dances, songs, and laughter bright; 

And soon the Fay Queen hears the story 

Of how they made the earth's white glory 

Of laces torn, and ermines white, 

And scattered jewels all aglow. 
They laugh to think that mortals will 

Call all this dazzling beauty snow, 
When morning brings the Christmas tide 
To find the earth decked as a bride. 



166 THE FROLIC OF THE FAIRIES. 

The Fay Queen trips to Elf-land's gate, 
Folds softly wings of purple glow, 

Peeps through the opal, star-crowned bars 
To view the lovely scene below. 

A ball of white swings in the blue, 

Tinged by the morning's rosy hue. 

Now, hark ! What is that joyous sound 
Whose melody peals on the air? 

'Tis Christmas bells, sweet Christmas bells, 
Whose echoes greet the morning fair ! 

Ring out, glad bells ! Ring out afar 

Beyond the paling morning star ! 

Ring out beyond the dying moon ! 

Ring out and tell each list'ning fay, 
Beyond bright Elf-land's opal gate, 

How mortals love the Christmas Day! 
Ring out, in mem'ry of His birth, 
" Good will to men," and " Peace on earth." 



OUR BABY. 

Oh ! have you seen our baby, 

The sweetest little girl, 
With hair so soft and golden, 

Which promises to curl? 

And, like the skies at midnight, 
Her eyes nre darkest blue; 

Her mouth, just made for kissing, 
Is of the rose's hue. 

Her ears are like small sea-shells, 
Her cheeks are downy pink ; 

Her hands, like crumpled rose leaves, 
Are 'cute and sweet, I think. 

Her voice is like the ring dove's, 

" Celestial " is her nose, 
And altogether charming 

Are her soft, dimpled toes. 
15 



168 THE BE A U'S MISHAP. 

She is the little darling 
Of papa and mamma, 

Of brothers and of sisters, 
Of grandma and grandpa, 

Of doting aunts and uncles, 
Of cousins quite a host, 

And if you have not seen her — 
Oh ! what a treat you 've lost ! 



THE BEAU'S MISHAP. 

The beau comes twirling his mustache; 
With diamond studs he cuts a dash, 
And looks around to " make a mash. " 

His nobby hat so soft and light; 
His stunning tie of colors bright; 
His tooth-pick shoes so slim and tight ; 

His slender cane, his curling hair — 
All — all make up a subtle snare 
To catch the hearts of maidens fair. 

And soon the beau a darky meets, 
Who carries whitewash on the streets, 
And of the bread of labor eats. 



THE BE A ITS MISHA P. 169 

The beau attempts to veer around, 
And give the whitewash ample ground. 
His tight shoes slip, and, with a bound, 

His feet fly up — the bucket kick, 
And o'er his clothes, so span and spick, 
Pours in a flood the whitewash thick. 

And, adding greatly to his woes, 
The bucket falls upon his toes. 
The beau forgets his ruined clothes, 

And broken cane, and hat forlorn — 
The bucket "mashes" his pet corn — 
He wishes he had ne'er been born. 

The beau gets up, and from his head 

All sweet thoughts of a " mash " have fled — 

Except to mash that darky's head. 

He almost wishes he could die; 
For giggling fair ones, passing by, 
Look on the scene with mirthful eye. 

A total wreck, he wends his way 
Back to his room, and there he'll stay, 
No more by maidens seen to-day. 



THE OLD MAN'S DKEAMS. 

The firelight dances on the walls; 

Without the night-wind shrilly screams ; 
Within is warmth, and light, and ease, 

And in his chair an old man dreams. 

He sees a dainty cottage white ; 

The wild rose twines about the door ; 
The forest makes a background green ; 

The winding river sweeps before. 

And in the door a woman stands — 
A woman tender, sweet, and fair, 

Framed by the roses ; and the sun 
Gleams on her braids of shining hair. 

She smiles upon her children three — 

A sturdy boy, two fairy girls, 
Who on the river bank play " horse " — 

He makes his " reins" of golden curls. 



THE OLD M, I N ' S BEE A MS. 1 7 1 

The Angelus chimes on the air, 

And from his work the father comes. 

He's welcomed with kisses and smiles 
Unto the happiest of homes. 

The old man smiles, and visions bright 
Of wild wood rambles rise to view — 

Of nuts, and grapes, and wild bird's nests, 
And daisy chains, and violets bine. 

Three merry children in the woods 

Together pass the happy hours, 
They chase the rabbits, squirrels, birds, 

And butterflies amid the flowers. 

The vision fades. Another comes. 

O'er three graves 'neath the verdant leaves 
Her woof of purple and of gold 

The velvet-hearted pansy weaves. 

Within one grave the father sleeps — 

The mother in the one close by ; 
And in the last, the little maids 

Together 'neath the pansies lie. 

But one is left to mourn the loss — 

He was his parents' hope and joy. 
The old man sighs : Ah ! can it be 

That he was once that happy boy ? 



172 THE OLD MAN'S DREAMS. 

Again the old man dreams. And now 
The dream is one of pure delight. 

A maid leans on the garden gate, 
Beneath the full moon's silver light. 

A sweet smile curves her ripe, red lips ; 

Her dusky hair floats light and free; 
And in her eyes shines the " rare light 

That ne'er was seen on land or sea." 

Again the old man smiles to think 
That he's the lover fond and true, 

For whom she waits beside the gate 
Amid the moonlight and the dew. 

Again he sees those love-lit eyes 

Shine through the white vail of a bride, 

And he the happy bridgroom is 

Who stands so proudly by her side. 

Another dream the old man dreams, 
His wife is sitting by his side, 

Four lovely children near them play; 
Their parents gaze on them with pride ; 

For blue-eyed Claude so handsome is — 
So gay, so happy and care free ; 

And Hugh, with black and flashing eyes, 
Declares he will a soldier be. 



THE OLD MAN'S DREAMS. 173 

And brown-eyed, dimpled, roguish Nell 

Is winsome as a sweet June day ; 
And lovely are the laughing eyes 

And golden curls of Baby May. 

This charming vision flits away, 

And in its place five sad ones come ; 

The old man sits alone, and weeps 
Within his lone, deserted home. 

He sees brave Claude — a sailor bold — 

Go sailing o'er the blue sea wave; 
The ship goes down with all on board, 

His boy sinks to a watery grave. 

The old man sees his gallant Hugh, 
With life-blood ebbing from his side, 

Among the dying and the slain — 
For on the battle-field he died. 

The old man sees sweet Nell's brown eyes 
'Neath orange blooms and vail half hid ; 

Again he sees those brown eyes closed 
Forever 'neath the coffin lid. 

He dreams of little Baby May, 

The object of his fondest love. 
Alas! Within a little grave 

She sleeps, and daisies bloom above. 



174 THE OLD MAN'S DREAMS. 

The saddest vision of them all 
Now rises to the old man's sight. 

His loved wife sinks in Death's embrace, 
And from her sweet eyes fades the light. 

Once more the old man dreams. He sees 

All Heaven open to his sight; 
He sees his loved ones happy there, 

Clad in white robes of radiant light. 

Their voices float upon the air, 

"Come, son !" "Come, brother!" " Father, come!" 
"Come, husband ! " and his wife's fair hand 

Is held to lead him safely home. 

In dreams he clasps that slender hand, 
And joins his loved ones in the skies. 

The firelight flickers in the grate, 
And on a bed of rubies dies. 

The whistling wind is hushed to sighs, 
The astral lamp burns low and dim, 

The old man bows his snow-white head ; 
Earth-visions come no more to him; 

For he is dead. On his pale face 

Rests the pure light by sweet faith given. 

His last bright dream is realized 
Amid the dazzling joys of heaven. 



LOVE'S ALPHABET. 

A is for Annie, sweetest of girls. 
B is her Beauty entrancing. 
C's for her golden, feathery Curls. 
D's for the Dimples enhancing 
Every smile that lights her blue Eyes. 
F's for her Feet small and light. 
G's for the Grace that in her form lies. 
H is for Hands soft and white. 
I is the Industry she displays. 
J is her Judgment so fine. 
K's for the Kisses lingering on 
Lips that have robbed the red wine. 
Merry her laugh like Musical chimes. 
No sound is sweeter to me. 
Oh, you must know that of her I am 
Proud as a Peacock can be ! 
Queen of my loving heart is the sweet, 
Radiant, angelic girl. 
S is for Skin as white as the snow. 
T is for Teeth white as pearl. 
Unblemished, Urbane, never Unkind, 
Vain are all words to portray her. 
Winsome, Wise, Worthy, Womanly — all 
'Xcellent graces array her. 
Young and fair. Angels caress her ! 
Zealouslv I pray, God bless her ! 
16 



THE CLOSE OF DAY. 

Fair Twilight hides her blushing cheek 
On rosy Evening's tender breast; 

And Zephyr folds his purple wings, 
And lays his golden head to rest 

Among the pines who all day long 
Have echoed softly to his song. 

O'er all the land a glory rests; 

The hills are bathed in golden mist; 
The gates of sunset swing ajar 

On pillars made of amethyst, 
And clouds of purple, rose, and gold 

The form of dying day enfold. 

The happy birds, that all day long 
Have flitted through the leafy trees, 

Like fragments of a rainbow rent, 

Are lulled to sleep by Evening's breeze ; 

The nightingale his vesper hymn 
Sings to the rose in coverts dim. 



TO NELLIE. 177 

Fair Luna, grasping silver oars, 

Prepares to launch her radiant boat : 

The stars their gleaming sails unfold. 
And in the blue Empyrean float ; 

Night, stealing softly o'er the way, 
Spreads her dark mantle o'er the Day. 



TO NELLrE. 

May happiness crown you through all your sweet life, 

And bless you as baby, as maiden, as wife ! 

And when life is ended, and bright Gates of Gold 

Are open before you, may angels enfold 

You in their white pinions, and bear you above, 

And place on your pure brow the great Crown of Love 

Which God has reserved for his children who come — 

Triumphantly saved — to the Heavenly Home 

Where the beauty and glory of Love never die 

But endureth forever — forever and aye ! 



DREAM SHIPS. 

Beyond the mystic Sea of Sleep 

There lies the magic Land of Dreams, 
Whose strange, enchanting beauty is 

Lit by the dream-moon's elfin gleams. 
And to this land, from ev'ry clime, 

Go ships of every shape and hue, 
Bearing the visions of our world 

Across Sleep's Sea of dusky blue. 



Some ships sail gently to the shore; 

Some headlong plunge upon the rocks; 
Some vanish into nothingness; 

Some go to pieces 'neath the shocks- 
Of wind and wave; while others glide 

Like silver swans with wings of snow, 
Wafted by sweet, rose scented airs — 

Such as from Cashmere's valley blow. 



DREAM SHIPS. 179 

Some ships seem like white, frightened doves 

Escaping from the falcon's beak ; 
Some look like sleeping lily-buds 

Whose fragrant heart the brown bees seek ; 
Some go like hissing, coiling snakes — 

Each leaving venom in its train; 
Some gently flutter up and down 

Like violets in the summer rain. 

There goes a ship with grass-green sails, 

And decks strewn o'er with serpents' teeth; 
The headlights burn a sickly green. 

A dark green slime slips from beneath 
The plunging keel, and stains the waves. 

I, at the helm, a monster see 
With cruel eyes of shining green : 

The ship's a dream of Jealousy. 

Close following the ship of green 

Is one of horrid yellow hue, 
And leering, strange, distorted gnomes 

Make up the frightful, impish crew. 
The blear-eyed, jaundiced helmsman gaunt, 

Drops poison from his shriveled lip 
As with his wrinkled, yellow hands 

He steers to Dreamland Envy's ship. 



180 DREAM SHIPS. 

There sails a ship with blood-red sails, 

Whose decks are thronged with warriors fierce 
Begrimed with battle's sulph'rous smoke, 

Whose blood-stained weapons sharply pierce 
The dying victims at their feet. 

The dripping gore floats out afar, 
And stains the bosom of the sea 

As onward sails the dream of War. 

A ship of gold with silver sails 

Sheds 'round a rainbow-tinted light 
From heaped-up jewels, on her decks, 

Of varied size, and colors bright; 
Flags of all nations deck her masts. 

With gentlest winds and smoothest tides, 
To music clear of clinking coins, 

The ship of Riches proudly glides. 

Not far behind goes Poverty, 

Lean, hungry-eyed. His ship he sails 
To no sweet music, but to sounds 

Of starving orphans' bitter wails, 
And to the piercing, anguished cries 

Of sharp-faced women begging bread. 
The grim ship's frothing wake is strewn 

With corpses of the pauper dead. 



DREAM SHIPS. 181 

Look! Where the dream-moon's silver wand 

Is laid upon the mystic sea 
Go two fair dream-ships side by side 

With silken pennons flying free. 
One ship is of that tender blue 

That noontide paints the summer skies; 
And 'round the perfumed, azure sails 

A golden halo softly lies. 

It is a fond youth's happy dream 

In which all things have caught the hue 
Of one fair maiden's sparkling eyes 

Of heaven's own delightful blue; 
And all things waft the sweet perfume 

That floats around the maiden fair; 
And all things radiate the light 

That shimmers on her golden hair. 

The other ship encircled is 

In light of tender, gold-tipped rose, 
Such as falls from the day god's wings 

As through the sunset gates he goes, 
Where stands shy Twilight, dreamy-eyed, 

Whose purple pinions tinged with gray, 
And dusky tresses, star-entwined, 

Divide the darkness from the day. 



182 DREAM SHIPS. 

The perfume-shedding pennons are 

Engarlanded by fairest flowers. 
The decks are heaped with buds and blooms, 

And music's strains beguile the hours 
Until their silver-sandaled feet 

Go twinkling o'er the fairy ship. 
Youth holds the helm. A joyous lay 

Trills gayly from her smiling lip. 

She smiles to see the azure ship — 

With dimpled Cupid at the helm — 
Press close beside her rosy barque. 

They fear no waves that overwhelm, 
Nor winds that blow. Each sees a mate, 

And, caring naught for wind and weather, 
Sweet Love and smiling Youth sail on 

To Dreamland's happy shore together. 

Close following the radiant pair 

Are two dark ships of aspect grim. 
At one helm stands a helmsman old, 

With palsied hands, and eyesight dim, 
And wrinkled skin, and scanty hair. 

Above his head the chill winds rage 
Through barren masts and ragged sails 

That crown the battered ship of Age. 



DREAM SHIPS. 183 

The other ship is coffin-shaped, 

Hung 'round with crape. The sable sails 
Droop from the masts. The air resounds 

With heart-struck mourners' bitter wails. 
The fleshless helmsman's eyeless skull ; 

His lipless mouth through which no breath 
Floats out; his grinning, tongueless jaws 

Proclaim his ship the ship of Death. 

And ever and anon the ships 

Of Age and Death press closely to 
The shining crafts of Love and Youth. 

And thus we ofttimes find it true 
That old age feels the blissful thrill 

Of dimpled Cupid's roguish dart, 
And bright youth ofttimes feels the chill 

Of death enshroud the bounding heart. 

Far out upon the rippling sea 

Where shines the dream-moon's softest light 
A satin ship with masts of pearl, 

Entwined with orange blossoms white, 
And snowy sails of fairy lace, 

To sounds of chiming wedding bells, 
With bride and bridegroom at the helm, 

Sails on to Dreamland's magic dells. 



184 



DREAM SHIPS. 



And thus they go — the ships of dreams. 

Some bright; some dark; some passing fair; 
Some gloomsome as the midnight storm ; 

Some blithesome as the summer air ; 
Some slowly sailing on alone; 

Some go in swift white-pinioned hosts, 
Bearing the visions of our world 

To fairy Dreamland's mystic coasts. 



■^, 



^>£^ 



~^>K/% 




*&&&<-. 



V** 



TO EMINENCE COLLEGE. 

Dear Alma Mater, though sixteen fleet years 
Have silver strands placed in my dusky hair 
Since from thy honored walls thou sent'st me forth, 
With other children of thy love and care, 
My heart to thee with memories sweet returns; 
Affection's fire still on her altar burns. 

Remembered are the happy days when thou, 

With watchful care, my youthful footsteps led 

Up Learning's rugged steeps, with knowledge crowned. 

Before thy touch the difficulties fled. 

Thou plucked the thorns that pierced my careless feet, 

And bound the wounds with Learning's roses sweet. 

Through all the land thy many children pray 
That God may bless thee; and thy image lies 
Enshrined within the depths of many hearts. 
At mention of thy name Remembrance flies 
From many hearts, on swift and joyous wing, 
And many tongues thy fervent praises sing. 



186 



TO EMINENCE COLLEGE. 



May Fame's unwithered laurels ever crown 
Thy kindly brows; and may thy scepter be 
The olive branch of Peace ; and may the smiles 
Of golden Fortune, plentiful and free, 
Be showered on thee; and may God above 
Forever bless thee with His gracious love. 




i Z St ioj n&S\ ♦Si 1 * & . mm LiiiiSw; ,.-. \ mil 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 



016 115 959 1 



